The Hardest to Kill
by ThreeDollarBratwurst
Summary: When Emmeryn falls from the execution spire, she performs an act of selflessness that should have left her dead. However, it fails to kill her. Now it is up to a disillusioned Plegian soldier to get her to safety, which proves a great deal more difficult than he anticipates. Very OC heavy, but largely follows the overall timeline of the game. T, ON [PROBABLY PERMANENT] HIATUS
1. Chapter 1: A Battle with Ylisse

**The Hardest to Kill**

 **Chapter 1: A Battle with Ylisse**

"Alright, you scum! Up, now! Today's the day!"

The captain's mustache quivered as he bellowed into the tent, rousing all eight of its inhabitants with a start. Those closest to the flap fought the urge to wipe the stray spittle from their faces as their commandant continued to spew orders at them. With trained precision and promptness, the eight soldiers paired off, each helping their partner slide into the armor plates emblazoned with the national crest of Plegia: the six eyes of their patron deity.

As Captain Faralan stalked away to rouse other tents, one soldier whispered into his co-lancer's ear as she slid the plates over his chest, "So… What's today?"

"Are you _serious_?" She pulled the straps perhaps a little tighter than necessary to punctuate the incredulity of her hissed response. "The Ylissean Exalt's execution? You managed to forget that? I swear, you'd forget your shield if it weren't strapped to your damn arm." With that, she finished strapping him up. "Seriously though, you need to be on your game today. This Ylissean league is not to be taken lightly, not since they sided with Ferox."

Turning and noticing her eyes narrowed in thought, he replied, "Is it going to bother you? I mean, technically some of them will be your countrymen, right?"

She blinked, then looked at him. "No, I… It's fine. They're my countrymen only in the sense that they look like me." It was true that she didn't exactly look the part for a typical Plegian. Unlike Walker, with his pale skin, dark blue-teal hair, and grey eyes, her skin was a caramel color, with dark hair and green eyes; in short, she stood out in a crowd among her peers. "Ferox is where I was born, but Plegia raised me, and the comrades I have in this army are worth more than shared skin tone any day."

He breathed a sigh of relief; when his co-lancer was on edge, he found he couldn't help but be as well. "I've got your back, Carlisle. Don't worry."

"The fact that I have to count on you is what makes me worry, Walker," Carlisle replied, smirking inwardly. Walker looked a little stung, taking a bite out of some stale bread he had saved from the march to the battlefield. "I'll take the javelins today, you take the steel lance," she said, already strapping the javelin quiver to her back without waiting for a reply.

"What a relief, I'll be taking the brunt of their swords, then-" Walker began to retort, but was cut off by the blast of a lookout's horn that even from this distance managed to shake his ribs.

Captain Faralan's voice boomed across their section of camp. "Ylisseans sighted north of the temple, heading southbound! Prepare to engage!" As the eight filed out of the tent wordlessly, they fell in line with the other nearby tents, marching toward the battlefield and forming ranks. The lookout's eyesight must have been stellar, because from where Walker stood he could see only a vaguely different-colored blur on the horizon, distorted by the heat waves of the already-baking desert sand.

Meanwhile, the sun shone brightly into the bleary eyes of the Plegian soldiers, causing a collective squint. Walker slowly pulled his helmet on, already lamenting how the insulating metal trapped the heat against his head. Beside him, Carlisle grimaced as she did the same.

He took note of the general mood around him; it felt quiet, but not like a peaceful spring morning's quiet. It was somewhere between the silence before a predator pounces and the calm before a massive storm. Behind him, he heard whispered, "I heard that the Ylisseans absolutely trounced the detachment in the north. No word of any survivors yet. There's word they've even got a _manakete_ -"

"SILENCE!" bellowed the now-armored Faralan. His mustache shook with a mixture of nerves and excitement, his axe wrapped in his gauntleted fingers. "Wyvern riders, you're with me today. They have a few pegasus knights, but with the vast majority of their air unit captured already, we will have the edge in the air today. We will be making use of that edge, especially considering the sandy terrain. We were born and raised in these sands, but those pampered easterners had no such experience."

"Despite that they must have done well in the north, seeing as they're here now…" someone muttered.

The captain cleared his throat, making way for a man in a thick, red armor shell to approach. He looked like he had seen his share of battles, and Walker could see several thin scars on his face. "General Campari," someone muttered, and Walker recalled the many stories he had heard about Campari the Ox in the last war that Ylisse's previous Exalt had waged on Plegia. His presence carried a certain weight, and the soldiers stood a little taller as the general looked at them.

The general held his weapon aloft as he spoke. "Now then, for those in the lancer corps, you will bear your nation's honor today. While those in the wyvern unit come around and box them in, you will be the wall against which they break. They will be caught between an unstoppable force and an immovable object, and so they will be crushed by our might! Your might! The might of Plegia!" The soldiers cried out in assent, clattering their shields and weapons and stomping on the ground. "And now we will see a show of that might! Behold, here approaches our king, His Highness Gangrel!" The soldiers cheered all the louder as the sharply dressed king stood at the top of the steps to the temple and beamed down at them. Above him, the soldiers got their first glimpse at the captive Exalt as she was led up the stone spire.

Between the eastern morning sun and the distance, Walker could not make out Ylisse's ruler very well. Her robes had been left on, but weeks of captivity had left them noticeably tattered. She looked worn, but her head was held high.

Gangrel's commanding, clear voice drew the eyes of every soldier. "Good people! Warriors of Plegia! Welcome! Welcome, one and all!" the king called, gesturing to the army before him. "Your anticipation electrifies the air!" And he spoke truly, as Walker felt the soldiers on all sides of him bristle with energy.

With a furious wave of his hand, Gangrel proceeded. "We ALL remember the crimes of Ylisse! Would you have their witch-queen answer for them?" The soldiers cheered their assent. The Exalt closed her eyes. "Here?" Gangrel called over the cheers, "Today? NOW?" The cheering grew to a crescendo as the soldiers once more beat their weapons together in bloodlust. "YEEEEEEEEEEEES!" The king cried, the soldiers reaching near delirium, caught up in the moment. "Finally, we will have JUSTICE!" It took a sharp rap of the captain's axe handle against the ground to keep everyone in their place at this point.

The king of Plegia pointed his gloved hand at the Exalt. "EXECUTIONER!" Walker could have sworn he saw the Exalt give a tiny flinch at the word. "If you would be so kind…" The soldiers of Plegia fell silent. The executioner, a Plegian fighter decked in the fur armor of a traditional warrior of the western forested region, raised his axe solemnly.

Suddenly, a voice rang out, splitting the morning air: "FLAVIA!" In that instant, a glint of sunlight flew from the pillars on the west side of the temple over to the execution spire, and in the time it took Walker to register that an axe had been thrown, the executioner was already clutching his chest, stumbling, and toppling off the side of the spire, hitting the ground with a sickening _crack_. "EVERYONE! NOW!" the same voice rang out, and suddenly that distant blur was not so distant. Or perhaps that wasn't quite right…

"An advance party! They snuck up in the night! To arms, NOW!" Faralan cried, scrambling over to his wyvern and climbing on, closely followed by the rest of the wyvern unit. Meanwhile, Walker and the others in the lancer corps rushed to form east-west ranks to intercept the Shepherds. Before the first of the bogged-down cavalry had fought their way out of the sand, the wyvern riders had swooped down, cleaving with their axes and taking a few infantrymen out. One man was lifted by Faralan's wyvern's hindlimbs, taken up fifty feet or so, and dropped onto his fellow Ylisseans, flattening a few more of them. However, the response from the archers and mages was prompt, and soon arrows, fire bolts, and blades of wind magic were flying through the air. One wyvern's wings were perforated by a volley of arrows, veering off into the ground and crashing into the bloodstained sand.

Meanwhile, the lancer corps stood their ground, glaring from their phalanx as the cavalry broke free of the desert sand and onto the harder packed ground southwest of the temple. As the charge approached, a volley of javelins was launched from behind the front line, catching a few riders and slowing more than a few horses. Still, the Ylissean cavalry hit the front line, testing the might of the Plegian formation and, at a few points, finding it wanting. From there, formations shifted, and the Plegians backed up, attempting to reorganize for another impact. The surprise of the Ylissean assault had certainly caught Plegia's army off-guard.

That was when another variable was thrown into the equation. "WAR MONKS!" someone screamed, "FROM THE SOUTHWEST!" The north-facing phalanx was thrown into disarray as soldiers turned to look at the source of the scream: a young dark mage kept crying to the infantry before an axe was buried in his throat. As he fell, a woman in monk robes with blonde, but bloodstained, hair grimaced as she pulled the axe from the wound.

The lieutenant called from the front line of the phalanx, "Back line! Engage the priests!" Immediately, Walker and the rest of his tentmates, as well as a few other tents' worth of soldiers, detached from the phalanx and ran to engage the priests before they could get to the Ylissean cavalry and begin healing. Plegian healers were limited, as most Plegian mages were gifted mainly in the dark arts, but the eastern nation had no such shortage. Therefore, stopping that resource from reaching the rest of the enemy's forces took top priority.

Unfortunately, that meant lancers taking on axe-wielders, meaning they were at a weapon disadvantage. That didn't seem to sway Carlisle, however, as she hurled a javelin at one of the healers, catching him in the chest and sending him sprawling out onto the sandy ground. Another war monk found his way to Walker, taking a wide swing at his head. Walker ducked, taking a sweep at the monk's legs with the back of his lance, but the monk recovered quickly and dodged the swipe, following up with a kick to Walker's chest, knocking him back a few feet and onto a knee. "Down!" he heard his co-lancer's voice call, so he hesitated in getting up long enough for her to hurl a javelin at the monk. Seeing the throw coming, the monk raised his axe and blocked the small spear with its wide blade. However, that left him open for the follow-up from Walker, who lunged with his lance, stabbing into the healer's abdomen. He gasped, doubling over and attempting a swing, but the superior length of Walker's weapon kept the distance safe. Walker twisted the lance slightly as he pulled out, feeling some skin tear on the way out. Before he could think about it, and deliberately not looking at the man's face, he kicked the healer in the chest, knocking him onto his back, then immediately plunged the lance into his chest.

"Brother Herel!" the monk woman cried, storming over to the pair and taking a wild swing with her axe. Her fury was evident, each swing coming with a burning rage that Walker's slower weapon couldn't hope to keep up with as the woman closed the gap. He tried futilely to take steps back, but the woman pressed, swinging closer and closer. Carlisle stood helplessly, waiting for a chance to throw but terrified of hitting her co-lancer.

Walker yelped, "A little help, Carlisle?!" Finally, she grasped the javelin as if it were a longer lance and charged, relieving Walker of his backward trajectory and helping push back against the wildly fighting woman.

As she was pressed back between the onslaught of the two lancers, she closed her eyes for a moment and muttered, "Gods forgive me," then ducked under the jabs of both her opponents and took an expert swing at Walker's legs. As the armor on the side of his thighs was less sound than the front, the axe glided through the limited protection with ease, digging deeply into his leg. With a scream, he was dropped to a knee, before dropping to the ground completely not long after, holding his leg and attempting to stem the rapid bleeding.

" _Walker!_ " Carlisle cried, looking at him for a moment before turning back to her opponent. She engaged the monk with a new fury, meeting her eyes with a fiery rage in her face. Meanwhile, the monk looked calmer than ever, and looked at the Plegian soldier with pity and sorrow.

Holding off the assault of the lancer, she uttered, "I am truly sorry. My emotions got the best of me." With that, she deftly knocked the javelin from Carlisle's hands, and turning the axe in her hands, hit her squarely in the head, dropping her like a rock.

Walker writhed on the ground; he had never known pain like this in his life. He felt the blood pour from the wound and watched the parched sand drink it up like a sponge. Not long after that, he felt the pain grow even worse, as if the wound was moving on its own. A million tiny needles stabbed into his leg as the flesh pulled together, and the pain was so intense that, coupled with the loss of blood, he felt his dizzy head hit the sand, and then there was nothing.

* * *

Sand.

Heat. Hot. Helmet. Helmet hot. Pull off the helmet. Better. Cooler.

Move leg. Right leg, check. Left leg, ouch, but surprisingly, check.

Stand up? Kneel, breathe, breathe, when did kneeling get so hard?

Stand. Woozy. That's a lot of blood. Is that mine? Look down. Yes, that's mine.

Suddenly everything rushed back to Walker. "Carlisle!" he cried, seeing her crumpled form not far from him. He stumbled over, almost falling once, and fell to his knees beside her, checking her head. The helmet was dented, but not penetrated. She had been knocked out, but left alive and breathing, and his leg had been healed. Had the monk woman healed him? Why? She had seemed so intent on killing them before. What changed?

Carlisle was not waking up, even as he shook her shoulders lightly to try to get a response. He looked over to the battlefield for the first time since he woke up.

Utter chaos. At some point the pegasus knights of Ylisse must have been released, because the conflict in the air was raging as wyvern and pegasus clashed and swooped over one another in an intricate dance of death. The Plegian dark mage regiment had started working into the cavalry, but the Shepherds were dropping the mages like flies. One of the mages on the Ylissean side looked awfully familiar, though…

"That's… one of ours," Walker said out loud as the mage in question let loose a blast of dark lightning that, even from this distance, he could tell had literally popped the eyes from another dark mage's skull.

Aaaaand that was all he needed. Walker bent over and vomited into the sand, recognizing a couple hastily chewed bread bits from this morning. Willing himself to stay conscious, Walker cautiously stood, taking a few tentative steps toward the battle. He had lost a lot of blood, but he still had the strength to stand, and with this much going in Ylisse's favor, his comrades needed his help. His… comrades…

He looked behind him briefly, and saw a smattering of bloodstained priests, skewered by Plegian lances, as well as just as many if not more of his fellow soldiers lying in different positions on the ground. The blonde woman was nowhere to be seen. "She must have made her way to the Shepherds," he muttered, cursing his inferior skills. That's just one more resource for the Shepherds, and with most of the main force tied up with Feroxi soldiers, the temple regiment was running out of good news. "Damn."

Figuring that Carlisle was safer here than nearer to the conflict, he left her there after staking up a small banner for shade to prevent her overheating and shuffled off toward the heat of the battle. As he moved, he recalled the small vial of vulnerary he kept in his pouch; mercifully, it had not broken from the axe swing. He took a grateful swig and immediately felt a significant measure of power return to his body. The tips of his fingers tingled with newfound energy.

As he walked with a new spring in his step, he realized his lance had been left behind. However, he passed a fallen Ylissean cavalier, whose sword lay on the ground beside him. "That's more like it," he muttered, taking up the sword and testing its balance. "I'm sorry," he added to the prone cavalier as he stood and took a few swings as he stalked toward the clashing armies.

He heard a crash behind him as a pegasus knight hit the ground, mount-first. The arrows in the pegasus were indicative of its fate; however, the rider had survived the fall. She quickly dismounted and, seeing the momentarily surprised Walker, screamed a war cry and charged, ripping out a thin rapier and lunging.

"Your! General! Is! Dead! Just! Give! Up!" the borderline-hysterical woman cried, punctuating each word with a blow and keeping Walker on the defensive with her longer blade. General Campari was dead? That explained the disorganization on the Plegian side, Walker noted, then with his wider blade decided to test for strength and press forward. In the rider's panic at being grounded, she was easily cowed and allowed herself to be pushed back. Her thin blade was not enough to stop Walker's mighty swings without a great deal more focus than she was showing, and as a result he quickly overpowered her. With a brutal swing downward, he hit the rapier from her hand, earning a brief yelp from her. His training took over, and without a moment's hesitation his blade entered and left her throat. The panic in her eyes increased tenfold as the ability to breathe left her, and she clamored forward, grabbing Walker's chestplate with pleading eyes as the life slowly drained from her. Not long after, she dropped to the ground, faintly gurgling. Walker fought the urge to vomit again, instead turning and running for the temple to attempt to rally with the other soldiers.

However, it was too late for that. As he neared the temple steps, he heard a familiar voice cry out in pain. He looked up and over his shoulder to see Captain Faralan, an arrow through his chest, plummeting toward the ground. As the dead commanding officer fell from his mount with a faint _whump_ into the sand, most of the remaining soldiers laid down their arms. To Walker's surprise, once the Plegians had surrendered, the Ylisseans stopped their attack immediately. He too dropped his sword and awaited his fate. The dark mage from before commanded him to his knees, and he obliged. In the distance, he could see a large, ornately decorated pegasus and its rider flying up to the top of the spire to collect the Exalt.

Then, just when Walker was trying to work out how to apologize for fighting on the opposite side, there was a scream, and the pegasus's rider was falling back to the earth, just below the spire. As she fell, Walker could see a long arrow sticking in one end of her chest and out the other. Suddenly, Gangrel was standing among the corpses in the courtyard, grinning ear to ear as a squad of archers emerged seemingly from nowhere.

These were no ordinary soldiers, though. They seemed almost… dead. As if they were barely held together at all. But then they gave the impression of being impossibly strong at the same time. The way they moved, the miasmic purple vapor that escaped from every orifice of their bodies, everything seemed just a little bit out of place. They looked wrong.

Suddenly, the air was filled with arrows as every pegasus knight still in the sky was riddled with them, sent plummeting to the ground. Walker heard King Gangrel's gleeful laughter as they fell, and closer by a young man in - was that a Plegian cloak? - shook his head and repeated, "No no no no-" over and over, eyes darting wildly back and forth as if looking for a solution. Gangrel slowly began strutting down the stairs, smirking as he approached the Ylissean prince.

"I believe this is what they call a reversal of fortunes." His smirk shifted to a full grin. "Now… grovel before me. Plead! BEG for your worthless lives!" His eyes were wide, greedily drinking in the sight of his defeated and trapped enemies.

However, the prince stood firm, gripping his sword all the more tightly. His eyes narrowed in venomous determination, he barked, "I'd give up my life before I'd beg for it from you!"

Gangrel, unimpressed, cackled and spat back, "Oh, now THAT is a good line. A fitting epitaph for your tombstone, perhaps?" He turned, walking toward the spire and looking over his shoulder mockingly at the prince. "But it's not just your life in the balance. The Exalt still stands upon the block." He gestured to the company of archers. "And I have a dozen bows trained on her. All it would take is one word from me…"

The prince finally looked away from the king, and instead looked to the Exalt, eyes widening with fear as he realized the precarious position he had been thrust into. "Emm!" It struck Walker to hear the distant, elegant Exalt referred to on such familiar terms. "Hold on, I'm-"

Gangrel interrupted the prince with a stomp onto a fallen rider's head. "ARCHERS! If this Ylissean pup so much as twitches, let fly your arrows!" Walker looked again at the silver-haired man in the Plegian coat, at this point his head whipping around, the way out not evident to him.

The prince started toward King Gangrel, muttering, "I… I'll kill you!" but was promptly held back by the silver-haired man, who gripped his shoulder in a panic, shaking his head.

The king, however, was all for it, stepping up to the prince and barking at his face, spittle flying, "Go ahead! I welcome it. Just know you were responsible for Big Sister's bloody demise!" He looked past the frothing prince, who by some miracle stood still for now, at the rest of the Ylissean forces. "And what of the rest of you? Eh?" He spread his arms out wide. "Who wants the honor of killing the Exalt?" He waited a moment. "No one? Bah!" He turned back to the prince, with a mock grimace. "Your merry band isn't quite so headstrong anymore, is it?" Nearby, a pegasus knight that had survived her fall groaned. The king walked over and kicked her squarely in the chest, earning a pained yelp. "Pathetic," he said, voice dripping with glee.

The prince reached out toward the fallen knight. "Damn you!" he said to the king, eyebrows furrowed in growing fury. A few of the undead archers growled in response, but did not shoot.

The king paused, turning to the prince. "Now, now, my boy - no one needs die today. Not you. Not the Exalt. Not your friends." As if to show his sincerity, he picked up the rider he had kicked in the chest, hoisting her onto her feet, and pushed her toward the Ylissean army, where she fell into the hands of a waiting dismounted cavalier. "Just lay down your sword, and give me the Fire Emblem."

Walker had heard that term before. The Fire Emblem. It was said to be the undoing of the Grimleal's patron god, many centuries before. When spoken of in the army, it was always in hushed tones, as if afraid the mention of the item would bring its burning vengeance crashing down anew. But why did Gangrel want it? Was this the real purpose of the execution?

The prince closed his eyes for a moment. "...I…" he began, but was interrupted by the silver-haired man.

"Chrom! You can't trust him!" he cried with a hint of desperation, gripping the prince's shoulder all the tighter.

The prince whirled around, facing the man. "Of COURSE I can't trust him! I'm not an idiot!" He looked down somewhat, and shouted at the ground, "But if I just say no, he'll kill her!" More quietly, but just loud enough for Walker to hear, he muttered, "The gods are cruel, damn them! My sister or my duty… A problem with no right answer, yet I must choose?" Above the scene, Walker noticed the Exalt raise her hand and open her mouth briefly, as if to say something, but she then decided against it.

The silver-haired man trembled, eyes closed. A few seconds later, his fist clenched, and he looked his leader in the eye. "I know it's hard to admit, Chrom, but-" his fist clenched even tighter, the nails digging into his palms, "it's the only choice. Compared to the lives of thousands, one person, any one person, is-"

The prince looked ready to punch the tactician in the face. "DON'T! Just… Don't say it." The king clearing his throat drew the attention of both of them.

"What's this?" Gangrel asked in mock concern. "You'll let your sister and ruler die, all to save some old family trinket? Oh, so delicious! I can't WAIT to hear what your people have to say about it." Walker grimaced, considering just how important the Emblem must be to make a man consider dooming his own sister. He felt a pit of guilt in his stomach in spite of himself. What would he do himself, thrust in a corner like that? Walker chanced another glance at the Exalt, and saw her shaking her head slowly, eyes closed. Meanwhile, Gangrel was borderline prancing around, declaring in the style of a news crier, "THE EXALT IS DEAD! LONG LIVE HER MURDERER! Your halidom will collapse before you could even begin your rule."

Prince Chrom took a step forward, flexing his sword arm. "We'll see, when the time comes," he spat with determination. "But first, I'll see you dead." Gangrel's hand drifted toward the Levin sword strapped to his waist, and the prince raised his sword, pointing it at the Plegian king.

A cry came from above. " _No, wait_!" Exalt Emmeryn called, her palm outstretched as if to stop her brother from dozens of feet above them.

Gangrel whirled around and, in something between a hiss and a scream, declared, " _SILENCE_!" The prince looked up at his sister and muttered his nickname for her under his breath.

Emmeryn's voice was gentle, yet somehow, impossibly, every person could hear her perfectly. Was it magically magnified? She spoke levelly. "King Gangrel, is there no hope you will listen to reason?"

The king was less composed. His face was twisted in disgust as he replied, "You mean listen to more of your sanctimonious babble?! I think not." He glanced around at the archers, and continued, "No, all I want to hear now is the _thunk_ of arrows, and a _splat_ as you hit the ground. Take one, long, _last_ look from your perch. You do so enjoy looking down on people…" His face shifted into a maniacal grin. "Then prepare to meet the ground, and your maker!" He turned to Prince Chrom and gave him a knowing look. "That is, unless someone were to give me the Emblem… _now_!" Exalt Emmeryn looked back and forth between the king and her brother, her mouth hanging open but no words forthcoming. She looked at a loss.

Walker had never been party to surrender negotiations before, but he wondered if they were always so dire. There was no way out for Ylisse now, he noted as he looked at an archer who moaned faintly, waiting for the order to fire.

Suddenly, the prince had shaken his tactician's hand off his shoulder. "ALL RIGHT!" he cried, then spoke in a more composed manner. "All right. Emm," he glanced at her, then turned back to Gangrel, "I know you won't approve, but this is my final decision. _Maybe_ someday we'll face a crisis where _maybe_ the Emblem would've helped, but I know for a fact that Ylisse needs you, today! The people need their Exalt…" he turned briefly to a young woman in a yellow cleric's dress nearby, "And we need our sister. If those dark days should come, we'll face them together."

Exalt Emmeryn looked at her brother, hand covering her mouth. After a moment, she lowered her hand, and curled it into a fist at her side. Though she spoke more quietly than ever, not a sound escaped anyone's ears. "Chrom… Th-thank you… I know now what I must do…"

"Emm, what are you-" Prince Chrom began, but with a touch on the arm from the tactician he closed his mouth for the moment.

The Exalt's voice took on a harder, clearer tone. "Plegians! I ask that you hear the truth of my words!" she said, raising both of her arms. The king looked on in shock, mouth agape. She gestured to the fields of the dead and the wounded that lay beyond the courtyard. "War will win you nothing but sadness and pain, both inside your borders and out." Walker thought of Carlisle, forced to stand against her own countrymen, wounded and left in the sand. He instantly felt sorry to have left her there. He thought of the pegasus rider he had killed. A hint of nausea returned on remembering the look in her eyes.

"Free yourselves from this hatred!" the Exalt continued. "From this cycle of pain and vengeance. Do what you must… As I will do." She took a step toward the edge of the spire. Walker realized what she must have meant, and found himself holding his breath. Gangrel, meanwhile, grinned in anticipation of what he could see she intended to do. Emmeryn's volume increased even more: " _See now that one selfless act has the power to change the world!_ "

Prince Chrom, too, had realized her intention, and broke free of his tactician's grip and went sprinting after the spire. A few archers turned their bows toward the prince, but the king held up his hand, holding their fire. "Emm, no! _No!_ " the prince screamed as he sprinted toward the spire, but it was too late.

She allowed gravity to take her, facing down with her hands folded in front of her as she fell. One second of emptiness, and then-

 _Thump_.

Silence fell across the courtyard, seemingly for minutes on end. Walker allowed himself to breathe, but the breaths were shaky, and his hands trembled as he knelt. Then two sounds began at the same time. The yellow-clad cleric began sobbing and screaming the Exalt's name, and the Plegian king threw his head back and began cackling at the top of his lungs.

"Oh, gods…" the tactician said quietly, but the prince was much more volatile than his advisor.

" _DAMN YOU, GANGREL!_ " he bellowed, getting up and starting toward the king, sword in hand. However, he was stopped by a few warning shots fired by the undead archers. He managed to regain enough composure to stop for the moment.

The king finally finished laughing, and glared at the prince, eyes aglow with glee. "Well now! How disgustingly noble. And so lovely a fall! Here I thought death to be an ugly thing," he said, gesturing casually at the growing pool of blood that surrounded the Exalt. "I've never seen one fall so gracefully, in fact… and I've seen many fall." He sighed, satisfied. "So ends Emmeryn, Ylisse's most exalted."

" _Gangrel!_ You die today!" Prince Chrom declared, readying his sword.

Things began to move very quickly from there. Walker heard the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps, and then there were Feroxi warriors, barking orders and sheltering the Ylisseans as the archers opened fire on them, taking out a few of their soldiers but not stopping the bulk of them from escaping. Walker saw the prince being led out by the tactician, pushing him forward and forcing him away from the king. The Ylisseans, in their rush to escape, didn't bother doing anything with their surrendered prisoners from Plegia, so Walker stood, a little dazed, and absentmindedly picked up the Ylissean sword he had slain the rider with.

The archer company moved to pursue the Shepherds, stalking past the Plegians left behind. One of them stopped, looked at Walker, and, on seeing the Eyes of Grima on his chest plate, gave something between a grunt and a snarl and moved on its way. Walker wondered if that crest was the only thing that kept the undead from killing him as well.

Unsure of what to do, he looked at his king, who was currently bent over one of the fallen Feroxi. He approached cautiously, and saw the king pull out his Levin sword and point it at the soldier.

"I will ask once. What route are they using to escape?" Gangrel asked. After a few moments of silence, he stabbed the sword down into the man's thigh, letting loose some electricity as well. Over the man's screams he said, "I'm not repeating the question! Tell me! _Now!_ "

"Go to hell!" the soldier responded. The king stabbed his other leg, earning a fresh scream, and twisted the zig-zagging blade in the wound.

"I can do this all day! I'll have one of my clerics heal you up and we'll start again!" True to his word, he motioned for a nearby woman to join him. He grabbed her wrist and pointed the staff at his legs, and a light shone and healed the wounds. The man cried out once again as the skin knit itself shut. He threatened with the blade again, raising it high.

"No! No! Please! The Midmire! _The Midmire!_ " the soldier wept, shriveling in terror. "They're heading north through the Midmire," he repeated.

The king stooped down and grabbed his chin, raising his face and forcing eye contact. "Are you quite sure?" The man nodded furiously. "Thank you very much. You may go now," the king said, not looking away as he stabbed the man through the throat and electrified him senseless.

He then stood up and motioned to a surviving wyvern rider. "You there! Get the message to General Mustafa, stationed in the Midmire. The Ylisseans are coming, and he will stop them. Those are his orders, you have yours. Go!" The soldier sprinted off to his wounded mount, and forced the beast to take wing unsteadily. The king paused, taking a breath and looking around. After a few moments, he noticed Walker standing there, awaiting orders.

"You there! Is that your blood or Ylissean blood on your face?" Walker had not noticed that his face was caked in now-dry blood.

"It's Ylissean. A pegasus knight, Your Highness," he said a little numbly.

The king gestured at the sword in his hand. "Did you do it with that sword? With an Ylissean sword?" The lancer nodded. "Bwa hahahah! How lovely! Tell you what, I like that look in your eye. I'm going to give you a great honor. Collect her luminosity's body and see to it that it's delivered to my quarters by tonight. I think we will put her on display, after perhaps a little… modification."

Walker saluted his king, saying, "Yes, Your Highness," and began numbly walking toward the body. The king left the courtyard, talking quietly with the woman in black who accompanied him to the battlefield.

Walker reached the body, boots squelching a little in the blood. She lay face-down, her robes widely billowed out. Not sure how to proceed, he awkwardly reached toward her shoulder, and tried to lift it, only to find it strangely difficult. It almost seemed pinned to the ground.

Puzzled, he lifted the robes to see what the issue was, and his breath caught. Her shoulder was indeed pinned, stabbed by an arrow point. The same arrow that he had seen sticking out of the pegasus knight captain's chest. He looked down, and his suspicions were confirmed: she had landed squarely on top of the fallen knight. Most of the pool of blood was seeping from not the Exalt, but the knight beneath her. With a little force, he dislodged the arrow from Emmeryn's shoulder, and successfully flipped her onto her back. The pegasus knight's body was somewhat crushed from the fall, and looked like she died in great pain, but the Exalt herself looked at peace. Her eyes were closed, mouth just slightly ajar. The way she lay, it was almost as if she were sleeping rather than dead, especially the way her breathing was slow and deep and-

Wait. Breathing. That's not right.

Walker dropped to his knees, instinctively falling between the Exalt's body and the door the king had left through to cut off that line of sight. He pressed his ear to her chest, and when it lightly pushed his head up, his suspicions were confirmed.

She was alive.

"Oh, shit."

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. From here on, there will be very little recounting of in-game events directly. I'm always open to and appreciative of criticism, as I always want to be doing my best possible work. See you all next chapter!


	2. Chapter 2: What Now?

**The Hardest to Kill**

 **Chapter 2: What Now?**

"Oh, shit."

A million thoughts, each one somehow conflicting with each other, bounced, scraped, and brawled through Walker's head. He stared blankly at the wounded but breathing woman lying on the ground before him. What on earth was he going to do? What should he do?

"Should kill her right now," a voice in his head crowed.

He recalled her words from before. A desire for peace, a desire so strong that she leapt to what should have been her death for it. She hadn't looked like it from up on the spire, but here he could see just how young she was. She couldn't be older than twenty-five or so, still very much in her prime. A life cut short.

"But it wasn't," another voice reminded him. "She's not dead."

He shook his head, eyes clenched in frustration. He had to make a choice. The only thing he was sure of was that after what he saw today, he refused to deliver her into Gangrel's hands alive. The king had been different than he imagined. He had heard what the previous king, Hartyr, was like, a religiously militant man that had converted his citizens to the Grimleal faith at the point of a sword, even though the majority of the country had already followed the faith. Comparatively speaking, Gangrel was supposed to be a more moderate, level man. He didn't force conversion to the faith, but rather encouraged the merits of the religion while focusing on a much more secular path forward for the country. While King Hartyr had been so focused on the faith and keeping his subjects in line that he failed to aid the starving, poverty-ridden nation, Gangrel had vowed to put his people first, and had stirred the nation into action against the perpetrators of the last war: the wealthy and prosperous nation of Ylisse. Walker had bought into this platform as much as any other soldier did; though the army was not afraid to conscript by force, the truth was they didn't have to. The people of Plegia wanted a common enemy, and in Ylisse they found one.

But as Walker looked at the woman before him, he wondered. Was this the face of Ylisse? Was this the horrid enemy he had been taught to fear? She had been gentle, kind, and level, especially when compared to the maniacal display Plegia's king had put on. He had seen the prince's tears of rage and pain at the supposed death of his sister, human tears.

A shiver ran down Walker's spine as the demonized image he had held of Ylisse slowly crumbled in the wake of what he had seen with his own eyes. These were people that truly wanted peace, that had made a Plegian their tactician and had even taken in enemy soldiers in the heat of battle and protected them. One of their number had even healed his leg and spared him and Carlisle. As he gazed at the slowly bleeding woman, it was not hard to believe that her people may be as genuine and well-meaning as she had proven herself to be. But what could he do?

"Do you need help moving her?" a gentle voice said behind him, making him jump with surprise. He whirled around, and saw the cleric that had healed the Feroxi soldier while Gangrel had interrogated him. She looked clearly shaken by the event, still holding onto her staff tightly. That staff…

Walker tried to think on his feet, coming up with a reasonable excuse. "Uhm, I don't need help moving her, but I could use your talents, if you don't mind."

"Oh, are you hurt? I can heal up any cuts or breaks if you have them," she said nervously, raising her staff preemptively.

"Oh, uh, no, I'm fine," Walker stuttered. "It's just that, see, His Highness asked me to have the body of the Exalt healed before it was brought before him."

She cocked her head. "Uhh...why?"

"I don't know exactly, I didn't question his orders. I don't doubt he intends to put her on display. So if you could heal her wounds, I'm pretty sure she broke a few bones, and of course that arrow wound from where she fell on the pegasus rider, that would be great," Walker said, not making eye contact.

She opened her mouth, closed it after a moment, and then a few seconds later started again. "You do know that healing staves don't close wounds on dead people, right? Nothing will happen."

Walker internally kicked himself. He had not known that about healing, as he had very little experience with monks and clerics. "Look, I know that, but if I am going to have to tell His Highness I couldn't follow orders, I need to be able to tell him I did everything I could."

"But… His Highness knows how healing staves work. He used this staff on that Feroxi warrior earlier, not me. He is trained to some degree in their use, he must know that won't work," she responded slowly, shifting her weight from side to side.

Walker lost his patience, nervousness taking over. He crossed over to her, grabbing her by the collar. "Just do it! Heal her, now!" he said a little too loudly. She yelped, not able to bring herself to speak as she scurried over to the Exalt. Slowly, she raised the staff, and as the light from the orb shone onto her patient's body, the arrow hole slowly closed, and her legs bent back into shape with a sickening _crack_.

The cleric turned slowly to Walker, confusion and fear burning in her eyes. "Wh-why did that work? Is she-?" She turned back the body and dropped to her knees, pressing her head to Emmeryn's chest and placing a hand on her neck to feel for a pulse. With a gasp, she sprang to her feet, only to turn around and find a sword point inches from her face.

"Wh-what are you doing?" she stuttered, bringing her hands up to cover her face and holding her staff horizontally in defense.

"You know the truth. That makes two people in the world that know. Until I can get her back to Ylisse, that's going to stay that way, do you understand?" Walker said darkly, forming his plan even as he told it to the trembling healer. He had made his decision: he was going to get the Exalt back to her family.

"But, but, if she's alive, King Gangrel must be told imme-"

" _No!_ He cannot know! Not until we are a safe distance away."

"Are you some kind of double agent or something?"

Walker blinked. "Um… I don't know, now that you ask. Until today, I was convinced the Ylisseans were evil and callous. But really, I think they're just scared. Just like us. But Gangrel is trying to push this war on us, on Ylisse, on everyone! Don't you see? He's the problem, not Exalt Emmeryn! Just think of what he made you do to that Feroxi! The cruelty you took part in!"

The cleric shook her head. "I have to stand with my country and my king, no matter what. Please, do what's right, and bring her to His Highness."

Walker pinched the bridge of his nose. "There's no time for this. Now, come with me. We are moving her out of here," he commanded, gesturing with his free hand at Emmeryn on the ground.

The cleric gulped, but stood her ground. "Y-you'll… have to kill me," she said. "I won't be party to treason." Her eyes hardened as she met his glare.

He raised his sword threateningly, but she turned her staff in her hands, indicating she intended to use the bottom end as a defensive weapon. She began to scream for help, but Walker cut off the scream by taking a swing at her, forcing her to focus on blocking the attack. After a few seconds, she turned and started to run toward the castle, blood on the stone ground splashing in her wake. Walker sprinted after her, still faster despite the armor, and tackled her to the ground a few yards away. She started to scream again, but in a split-second decision Walker hit her in the back of the head with the sword's pommel. She fell silent as consciousness left her from the hit's impact. He stood up, leaving her lying on the ground.

"Someone will be along eventually. I hope you see why I am doing this before then," he told her unconscious form, then crossed over to the Exalt and lifted her up over his shoulder. Nothing else for it: he would have to fake it. He carried her out of the courtyard, where several soldiers were tending to the dead and wounded. No one looked twice at him as he found a small arms cart, emptied it, and laid the Exalt in it.

"So, what's it like to carry the witch queen's wretched corpse?" a passing soldier asked, flopping a dead Ylissean cavalier onto a pile of other bodies.

Walker put on an air of nonchalance. "Well, it was disgusting to get her filthy blood on me, but you gotta do what you gotta do," he said with a shrug.

"Hah! Well, hope you don't stink of that rotten harlot when you've delivered her," the soldier responded, clapping Walker on the shoulder.

"Hey!" cried a nearby soldier who overheard them. "Have some respect for the dead!" he continued as he without a trace of irony dropped a Plegian corpse unceremoniously onto another cart. "She had some good points," he added somewhat quietly. So Walker wasn't the only one after all.

"You can't be serious!" the first soldier responded. "What kind of garbage are you spewing, man?"

The other one whirled to face his comrade. "Look, my best friend in the entire world was stationed up north, protecting that Grimleal priest. The reports came in earlier, though. He didn't make it. None of our men did."

"Exactly!" the first soldier retorted. "That should piss you off! Those Ylissean dogs crushed us! You ask me, they got off too easy today, and I can't wait for King Gangrel to chase them down."

At this point, Walker slowly started rolling the cart away, hoping the soldiers were making enough of a scene that nobody would notice him taking it up the outside along the west side of the bastion rather than inside. As he walked, the argument got more and more heated, and he heard shouting among the men as he walked. But when he chanced a look back, it didn't look like it was directed at him. As soon as he could, he ducked with the cart behind a nearby dune.

He allowed himself a sigh of relief, but then panic began to set in. When was that cleric going to wake up? _Was_ she going to wake up? Either way, how long did he have before the absence of the Exalt was noticed? How in the _hell_ was he going to get a comatose fully-grown woman across the desert and back north into Feroxi territory? For that matter, would he be filled with arrows on sight?

Wait. Hyperventilating is bad. Panic is bad. Make a plan. What is nearby? Going just straight north is nothing but desert; he would die of dehydration before he could get anywhere that way.

Water. That has to be the priority. No rivers nearby, which means the only option is stopping in a village. What villages are near? There's Narda, and a little west of that there's Golonna, which meant-

Mom.

Was that what it was going to take to make this work?

He sighed. It was bound to happen eventually, he supposed. He picked up the handles of the cart and made to cut northwest across the desert. He stopped after a few paces and pulled off the helmet, then as much of the armor plates that he could reach the straps on. He also took a small cloth and spared a few drops of water to wipe the blood from his face. Much cooler now.

* * *

The desert was bigger than he had anticipated. He had no idea how long it had been, but noticed the sun was getting a little lower in the sky to the west. The dizziness of dehydration had started to take its toll on him, the edges of his vision blurred. He had been forced to abandon the cart, mired in the sand, and was carrying the unconscious Exalt on his back like a large child. To avoid her overheating as well, he had removed the outer robes and vestments of her complicated outfit, leaving only a comparatively simple white dress beneath and some fabric wrapped around her head to avoid exposure. He had also taken some for himself to do the same. Not that it was going to do him much good now.

"Do vulneraries work on dehydration?" Walker asked no one in particular, and tried taking a swig of the quickly-depleted bottle. In truth, he did feel better, and kept on walking with renewed vitality for some time, but after some time even that began to fade. Was the Exalt always this heavy?

Walker's head began pounding. Every heartbeat felt like a punch to the inside of each temple, as if his pulse was trying to escape through his skull. The blurry vision returned as well, pulsating in time with his heartbeat. Soon that was the only way he could focus on what he was doing, taking his steps in time with the beating of his heart and the pounding in his head. Confusion began to take hold.

Where was he going, again?

Who is this on his back?

Why i-

The ground rushed up to him, and suddenly everything was dark.

* * *

Head hurt. Ow. Ow. Like a drumbeat of ow.

Get a grip. Focus. There's something to be done. What was it..?

Walker looked around a little. When did he get indoors? Was he on a bed? Good gods, it _was_ a bed. Nothing on earth could move him now. He breathed a little and looked to his side.

 _Water._ He sprang over and snatched the cup, trying to suck the water out faster because gravity just wasn't doing it fast enough. As he was drinking, someone entered the room, apparently drawn by the noise. Walker heard footsteps approach, then the cup was gently grabbed from him.

"Easy, there," an elderly man's voice said as the cup was set on the end table. "Don't overdo it, or you'll just hurt yourself. There's no rush. Collect your thoughts."

Walker did as he was told. A few deep breaths in and out. Then it all came back to him.

"The, uh, the woman that was with me-" he began. The old man held up a hand, a gentle smile on his bearded face.

"She is alright. Not awake yet, but we got some water in her as well. She is alive. By some stroke of luck, I might add. You're fortunate my son found you when he did. Although," he added with a chuckle, "perhaps you're more fortunate that his wife was with him when he did. I'm told bringing you two in was her idea."

Walker inclined his head. With no idea who these people were, he needed to play it safe. "I'm in your debt, Mister… ah…"

"Yulian is my name. And this," Yulian said as two more people entered the small bedroom, "is my son, Harold, with his better half, Greta."

Harold was a hard-looking man with an even harder-looking face. He knelt on one knee to get to Walker's sitting height. "Hello. As Da said, I'm Harold. What is your name?"

"Walker," he replied, noticing his voice was still a little weak.

"And the woman in the next room?" Harold asked.

"That's Em- ahem. That's Maria," he said, stumbling a little under the lie.

Harold's eyes narrowed. "And if I were to ask her, she would say that as well, right?" he asked.

Greta, a short but stout brunette, gasped and slapped her husband on the shoulder. "Harold!" she scolded.

"We found them in the middle of the desert, Greta! Asking questions is just part of the deal!" Harold protested, rubbing the offended shoulder. He turned back to Walker. "But I'll be more direct. It's hard to trust a man who was walking with a woman slung over his shoulder in the desert with no supplies or water. What were you doing?"

Walker's mind shifted into overdrive, an effort doubled in difficulty by the lingering headache. "Well, Maria is good friend of mine. As we were traveling east of here, she took ill very suddenly. I had to get her to a healer, so I started to make for Narda, closest to where we were. But without enough supplies to cross the desert, I ended up collapsing myself. That must have been where you found me," Walker said.

"Well, you're right about Narda, that being where you are. You came from east of here? Why did you not stop in the capital then?" Harold asked. "Surely two prepared travelers would have enough supplies after stopping there."

"Have you not heard?" Walker asked, realizing as he spoke how he could turn this around. "The capital was attacked by the armies of Ylisse and Regina Ferox, not long ago at all! Maria and I could barely escape with our lives, much less our supplies." Greta gasped again, this time covering her mouth with her hand.

"The capital! Darling, do you think-"

"Now hold on. Why on earth should I believe that?" Harold countered, looking critically at Walker. "I've heard that the Ylissean league was approaching from the north, but that doesn't mean they already arrived."

"It was only this morning!" Walker replied, voice cracking a little under the strain. "We came directly here from the battlefield, of course we would be the first here with the news! Please, why would I lie? Maria is sick, and needs help. I have to keep moving, but I promise I'm telling the truth. The capital was attacked just today. The town will receive a report soon. The army just needs time to regroup. Had it not been for some last minute reinforcements, the Ylisseans would have taken the capital without a problem. As it is, when Maria and I escaped it was pure chaos. I don't know who won today."

Greta placed a concerned hand on her husband's shoulder. "Harold… Hilde, and her family…"

"I'm sure they're fine," Harold interrupted, taking one of his wife's hands into his. "Your sister is made of stern stuff." She sighed, then nodded, squeezing his hand. It seemed Greta had broken through to her husband. "Thank you for bringing us this news," he continued, turning back to Walker as the now ex-soldier drank more from the cup Yulian had just refilled. "We will have to make preparations to see Greta's sister and her family fairly soon, then. As for your problem, what is Maria afflicted with?"

Walker rubbed the back of his head. "I have no idea, truth be told. I had intended to take her to Golonna if I could manage it, as I have family there, and see if there was a healer there that could tell what's wrong with her."

Yulian nodded. "If war is on our doorstep, then staying with one's family is the most sensible choice. Of course, Harold would be happy to take you that far, wouldn't you, my son?" he said, shooting down his son's protesting look with a glare. Clearly, that hard look was hereditary. Walker laughed a little and voiced his appreciation. In a way, he felt sympathy for Harold. Such a large, imposing man, living by the whims of his wife and father.

Soon after, Walker was strong enough to stand and walk, and he went to Emmeryn's room. She lay in bed, breathing gently. He stood awkwardly, not sure what to do or say. Aware after a few seconds that Greta was standing behind him, he crossed over to her bedside and knelt by her bed. Intending to keep up the close friends story, he figured some physical gesture was in order. What do friends do when their friends are deathly ill? Eventually, he gingerly reached up and stroked some stray hairs out of her face, noting how strange the birthmark on her face looked. He recalled the prince Chrom having the same mark on his arm. Maybe it was a familial thing for the Exalted bloodline?

"We're going to get you the help you need, Maria," Walker said at last, standing and leaving the room. Harold was waiting in the house's main room for him.

"If we are going to make for Golonna, I would ask that we go as soon as dawn breaks. I don't want to get stuck there overnight when I also have a trip to the capital ahead of me," he said, arms crossed.

Walker quickly nodded. "Of course. Right at dawn it is."

He sat for some time in the comfortable chair offered to him, collecting his thoughts. It would not be long before word reached the town of the attack, and at that time news of his own betrayal may come as well. Relying on the help of strangers was dangerous. In this case, he hadn't exactly meant to, but if his tryst into the desert was any indication, he was not prepared for this. He needed supplies, enough to make it to Ferox. If he could find help in Golonna…

"Maybe I can throw Mom's name around a little, see what sticks," he muttered to himself. There was so much that could go wrong, even if he made it to Ferox. What if he was killed on sight by their border guard? What would become of him after he handed over the comatose Exalt? Would he be let free? Maybe he'd be conscripted to fight for Ylisse, like that dark mage from before. Would he even be okay with that? Leaving the war was one thing, changing sides was another thing entirely. What if, gods forbid, he ended up facing Carlisle in battle? Could he fight her? Could he fight anyone in his company?

"Hey, Walker," Harold interrupted his thoughts. "It's getting late, you should rest. Early start tomorrow."

Walker stood, shaking his head a little to clear his thoughts. "Right. Thanks again for everything." Harold grunted in assent.

"I hope the couch here is enough," Greta said with a hint of concern. "From what Harold has said the times I've sent him onto it for the night, it's not the most comfortable of beds."

Walker chuckled politely and replied, "I'm sure it's fine, thank you."

* * *

The next day, it was certainly not fine, Walker realized, moaning as he trudged through the sand. The looming worry coupled with the couch living up to its grim reputation robbed him of sleep and left him sore and tired, though that may also have been on account of the lingering battle fatigue. Whatever the case, Walker's legs protested with every step as he walked alongside the small wagon that carried Emmeryn as well as some supplies for the road. However, because they had left before the sun rose, instead of the punishing heat from yesterday, the group was met with an equally punishing cold. Walker pulled the cloak he had been lent tighter around his torso, letting loose a small shiver as he marched through the sand.

Harold was silent most of the journey, speaking only to announce occasional adjustments in direction. Fortunately, even though the desert was a constant, there was something akin to a road between the two villages, so the wagon fared much better than Walker's arms cart had previously.

When the sun rose, the chilly desert changed its mind very quickly about the temperature, and before long the air was thick with heat, rising in waves from the sand and seemingly blurring the entire world. However, armed with a modest supply of water, Walker felt much more coherent this time.

After what seemed like forever, Harold spoke. "So the capital really has been attacked, then?"

"Yeah."

Walker saw Harold's hands grip the reins more tightly. "It's good that there are so many willing soldiers. It's allowed me to avoid the draft. But if this war drags on, my chances of avoiding it get slimmer."

Walker looked down at the sand. "I was a soldier for a time." He paused, collecting his thoughts and chancing a question on his host. "But this war is pointless, isn't it?"

Harold turned his head toward Walker. "Pointless? No. Plegia was left in shambles after the last war. In many ways it has yet to recover. That's why I can't afford to get drafted. Leaving my wife and father on their own, when money is so tight as it is? It's not an option. And if I were to die in battle? Putting that burden on Greta is unacceptable. I didn't want to believe war had already come to the capital. That means my clock may well be ticking."

Walker found himself without any way to respond for a moment. "Well, um… Have you considered leaving the country?"

"And abandon the people that count on us? Greta's sister? My brothers? The family is in this together. Leaving simply isn't an option for us. I can only hope that I can escape that fate," Harold said solemnly. "In any case, we will be arriving soon." Through the hazy air, Walker could make out the shapes of buildings on the horizon.

They traveled in silence until they were upon the village gate. A couple soldiers were standing guard at the gate.

"Hold there," one of them said, shifting his lance uneasily. "What is your business in Golonna?" A fraction of a second passed, then the soldier's face lit up. "Wait, it's you, Harold! Long time no see! Who's your companion here?"

Walker cut off Harold, responding hastily, "Nathaniel. My name's Nathaniel. Nice to meet you, sir." He felt Harold shoot him a glare, and held his breath.

"Yes, this is Nathaniel. Temporary hired help, but after the way this trip has gone, it may be more temporary than I first thought," Harold said warily, easing into a lie on Walker's behalf.

"Hah! Well, we may be old chums, but a toll is a toll. After the damage done in the capital, the treasury needs all the funds it can get," the soldier said, holding out his hand expectantly. Harold sighed and slapped a small pouch into the waiting palm. "It's all here. Go on in. And keep a lookout, they say there are traitors everywhere after the Exalt's death for some reason. Report anything suspicious to the soldiers around town."

The travelers proceeded into town, and as soon as they were out of earshot of the soldiers, Harold leapt from the wagon and gripped Walker by the collar.

"What the hell was that?" Harold demanded in a hiss. "Why did you have to lie to them? Or was it my family you lied to?"

Walker put his hands up by his head, palms facing his assailant. "Look, there are some things you don't want to- urgh!" His protest was cut short as the large man gripped him tighter, almost lifting him from the ground.

"I do want to know, and I will. Now," Harold warned.

"No, you really don't. The more you know, the more danger you're in!" Walker responded.

"Are you saying you put my _family_ in danger?" Harold asked, eyes narrowing.

"I didn't ask you to help me, I could remind you," Walker said, pushing Harold's arms away and freeing himself. "You offered."

"What's stopping me from turning you in right now?"

"You wouldn't want that."

"Why not? If you're wanted, I could get a nice reward for bringing you in."

"You'd have to admit to harboring two enemies of the state. Your family would be imprisoned or killed." That part may not be true, but he was backed into a corner here.

"Two? You mean her, Maria. If that even is her name."

"Yeah. But trust me, the less you know, the safer you'll be. Just let me take things from here, and you can go back to your life, same as ever," Walker pleaded.

"These town guards know me. If you're found, they'll trace it back to me," Harold said, suddenly sounding very tired.

"I know. I won't be found," Walker said, mustering up whatever confidence he could. "But if I am, you need deniability on your side. You need to know as little as possible. Because whatever you do know, if the right soldiers are asking, you will tell them. Please, I know I've done nothing to earn your trust, but just take my word for it. The safest thing for you to do is to leave town without me and try to forget my face."

After a moment of silence, Harold spoke. "Fine. I met you this morning, hired you briefly, fired you just as quickly. From there we went our separate ways, never to see each other again." Walker nodded. "Nathaniel, you're fired," Harold said at full volume, in case the soldiers could still hear.

"I...understand, sir. Thank you for the chance at least, and for the water," Walker replied as Harold pulled the wagon around the corner, out of the soldiers' sight.

"There's the matter of your, uh, cargo," Harold said flatly.

"There's a small house on the east side of town. I'll lead you there," Walker said quietly. No one looked twice at the two as they navigated the streets toward the humble abode not far from the edge of town. When they arrived, Harold didn't bother getting off the wagon. Walker hopped into the back of the wagon and carefully scooped up the Exalt, carrying her out to the front of the house. He took a last look at Harold. "Thank you," he said. The man grunted noncommittally, raising a hand in farewell and driving off. For an instant, Walker wondered if he was off to tell the guards where he had gone immediately. As soon as he was out of sight around the corner, Walker hastily took the Exalt inside.

After shutting the door, he looked around. "Wow, it really hasn't changed," he said to himself as a wave of memories washed over him. "Kind of creepy," he muttered, carrying Emmeryn to his old bedroom and setting her on his bed. The room was plain, just a dresser and a couple worn chairs for furnishings and a few banners adorning the wall, emblazoned with the Eyes of Grima. Underneath the banners were tacked up a few drawings clearly done by a child. They featured everything from dragons to knights to castles atop fiery mountains. He had never had the heart to take them down; it would have broken his mother's heart.

He crossed over to one of the chairs and flopped into it, groaning. "What am I doing?" he asked the ceiling. _Who can I approach in town? Word must have already reached town of what's happened. I have to assume my name is dangerous, huh?_ He sat there for a few minutes, letting his tired legs drink deeply of the joys of nothingness.

* * *

Walker's eyes snapped open. He must have fallen asleep. "How long-?" He sprang to his feet and flung open the wooden window shutters in the living room. The sun was still in the sky, but not for long. By Walker's guess it had been a couple hours. The bustle outside was beginning to die down, people drifting back to their homes in the dying light of the sun.

"Phew." Walker crossed over to the kitchen side of the room, flipping open all the cupboards and finding nothing to eat. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised." His stomach disagreed, snarling in discontent. He reached in his small leather belt pouch and retrieved the coin purse inside, then gave it a shake. "Maybe enough for some meat, if I'm lucky," he muttered to himself.

He checked on Emmeryn once more, and reassured that her breathing was normal, he crossed into the living room and grabbed the key from underneath the carving his six-year-old self had made for his mother. He set the tiny likeness of a sword-wielding woman down where it was and left the house, locking the door and checking it thrice before leaving. "Sorry Mom, I haven't forgotten your open door policy. Just isn't happening today," he muttered under his breath.

He wrapped his cloak around himself and put up the wide hood. A few minutes of walking later, he found himself in front of a small-time food stand.

"Hello there young man," the old woman running the stand said cheerily. "Interest you in some of the finest cuts at the finest prices? You won't regret it." Something about that last reassurance made Walker suspect he may very well regret it. However, she did have the cheapest food available around here. He sighed, defeated. He managed to get himself a skewer of some undefined meat and a decently large loaf of bread for most of his remaining gold. How on earth was he going to afford enough supplies or transport to Ferox?

As he started walking back to the house, he looked left and in the distance saw another sight that brought back memories from his youth.

"Guess I'd better visit Mom while I have the chance," he said to himself under his breath, then turned and walked north up the street. By now the sun was losing its battle with the horizon. Soon he found himself in front of an open patch of ground, fenced in with wrought iron. He passed through the iron gate, then kept walking until he stood before a small grey rounded stone. He had only seen it once before, but the size and shape and color and every imperfection were etched into his mind the same way the words were etched in the stone:

MONICA

DEVOTED WIFE

LOVING MOTHER

NO ONE EARNS PARADISE,

BUT YOU CAME CLOSEST

"...Hi Mom," Walker said quietly, fist clenching at his side. He felt a pressure building in the back of his eyeballs as he fought a losing battle with the forming tears. "Been a while."

A voice interrupted him. "Walker? Is… is that you?"

* * *

A/N: Thanks for coming back! I've got massive ideas for where the story is headed, and I'm super excited about them. As always, comments and critiques are very much appreciated. See you next time!


	3. Chapter 3: Home Sweet Home

**The Hardest to Kill**

 **Chapter 3: Home Sweet Home**

"It is you, isn't it?"

The voice broke into Walker's consciousness, making him jump slightly and whirl around. There stood a man cloaked in dark brown, squinting at him in the dying light. Walker allowed his hand to fall from the sword still hanging at his waist.

"Gods, Fallon. You scared the shit out of me," Walker sighed.

"Well, someone's got to keep you on your toes, eh?" Fallon responded, eyes twinkling with mischief. "But what in the name of the gods are you doing here?"

"What, no 'hello' or 'how have the past five years been?' first?" Walker protested.

Fallon strode forward, clapping Walker on the shoulder, hard. "Fine. Hello, how d'you do, all that malarkey. But this is important! You can't be out here!"

Walker paled slightly. "So, word has reached town after all. What have you all been told?"

"Not much, as usual. But you were mentioned specifically. Theft from the king himself, assaulting a royal cleric, high treason? What on earth have you been doing?" Fallon hissed quickly.

"I promise, I have an explanation. Let's discuss it at Mom's old place," Walker replied, starting to walk toward the cemetery's gate. Fallon followed slightly behind him.

"That's not a good idea," Fallon said in hushed tones. "I heard the soldiers talking earlier. They're going to start a nightly watch of the place in case you were to return. In all likelihood they'd be there before we got there."

Walker stopped for a moment. "Wait. They're heading there right now?" He looked back at the aging man in horror.

"Yes… Why, is that an issue?" Fallon asked, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Ssssshit." And with that, Walker had taken off running, rounding a corner and sprinting headlong down a side street toward his mother's home. When possible, he afforded a spare thought or two to keeping to the shadows when he could, but certainly he wasn't well-concealed. Soon, he rounded another corner and the house was in view. The door was unopened, which he took for a good sign.

He crossed the street warily, jamming the key into the door and slipping inside, taking the key with him. The inside of the house was exactly as he had left it in the main room. Walker allowed himself a relieved sigh, then crossed into his old bedroom. The Exalt lay still on the bed, chest slowly moving with even, deep breaths.

Walker stared for a moment at her. How on earth was he going to move her out of the city unnoticed if there was already a watch for him? Would the guards have been told they were also looking for the Exalt?

Walker had been pondering this for a few minutes when he heard a voice approaching. Another voice responded, and both laughed as they drew closer and closer to the front door. Panicking, Walker snatched the limp Exalt out of the bed and carried her across the room to his small closet, setting her down curled up on the floor. For good measure, he grabbed a spare blanket and threw it over her, then shut the door. He whirled around, and frantically drew up the sheets to cover the fact that the bed had been occupied. Seconds later, he heard the knob turn and the front door open. Unable to move out of the room, he desperately threw himself under the bed and lay flat, barely daring to breathe as he heard armor-clad footsteps crossing the main room's floor.

"I don't see why they insist we set up a watch at his actual house anyway," a gruff voice said, and punctuated the thought with a flop as the voice's owner settled into Walker's mother's chair. "What kind of idiot would commit treason against the king himself, and then instead of escaping, just go home?"

You'd be surprised, Walker thought, his hands shaking slightly.

"You gotta admit, though," the other soldier responded. "He's gotta have some stones on him. Stealing from the king, killing one of the king's own healers, and slipping out in front of Grima and everyone? He might be a moron, but he's no coward if the reports are true. Who's to say he wouldn't stop at home, grab a quick bite?" Both soldiers laughed at the idea. So the healer didn't survive that hit after all, Walker realized. I'm sorry.

"I s'pose you're right," the first soldier said. "In any case, I can't say I'm complaining. I mean, setting up shop in a house with two perfectly good beds? Hardly the worst gig, eh?"

"You're tellin' me," responded the second.

* * *

Time passed in a horrid, sluggish crawl. The soldiers talked, laughed, and bantered their way through several hours while Walker sat still, tense to the point of straining a muscle under the bed.

Eventually, though, a new problem sprung up: Walker suddenly wasn't feeling so good. In fact, his stomach was starting to churn something fierce. Oh gods, no. The mystery meat from the stall, Walker thought, his face twisting in horror. This is bad. This is very bad.

"Gwrrrrrrgh," his stomach agreed.

As the night wore on, the growing pain in his stomach threatened to overtake him, but with gritted teeth and fists clenched painfully tightly, he managed to last. However, the already-distressing situation was about to get worse.

"Alright, well I'm gonna snatch a few Z's. Let me know if anything comes up," said one of the soldiers, and with that crossed into Walker's room. Walker held his breath as the metal-clad legs approached the bed and then ascended out of sight. He felt a large weight press down from above and shrink the already small space he had for maneuvering down to almost nothing.

A horrible mixture of fear and nausea washed over him, doubled by the fact that he could no longer take deep breaths to calm himself. He felt his pulse in his ears, beating over and over at a much-too-fast rate. The air moved shakily in and out of his lungs.

He had never felt this pathetic in his life.

Mercifully, as the minutes wore on, the breathing of the soldier above him grew level and even, eventually shifting to a full-throated snore. He gave it a few minutes more, then slowly, slowly inched his way out from under the bed. He peered over the bed onto the soldier that lay there, sprawled out on his back. Walker held his breath while sliding his sword with extreme care from its sheath, making as little noise as possible. He crept over to the closet and with his free hand slid open the door. The Exalt was still curled up beneath the blanket.

"Gods," Walker breathed. "How am I going to do this?"

He slowly bent down and set the sword on the ground, then grabbed Emmeryn out of the closet and flopped her over his shoulder. He then cautiously picked up his sword again and turned around. The soldier was still asleep, thank the gods. He crossed over to the window, and flipped the latch on the window, slowly pulling open the wooden shade. He set the limp Exalt on the ground outside, and put his foot on the sill to hop outside himself-

"Hey! What the hell are you doing in here?" came a voice from the doorway to the room. "Stop right there!" He pulled out his sword as his partner began to stir from his sleep.

Walker had very little time to think. He crossed over to the soldier in the bed and his training took over. He promptly planted the sword in the man's chest, pulling it out just barely quickly enough to block the horizontal swing from the remaining soldier, giving him time to step back.

"You son of a-" the soldier said as he advanced on Walker, sword flying in newfound rage. Walker parried a few blows aside, then blocked a third blow and pressed forward. Suddenly, he felt his innards take action of their own accord, and the contents of his stomach ejected violently all over the soldier's face. "Gah!" the unfortunate man yelped, bringing his hands to his face. "It's in my eyes!"

Walker seized the moment of vulnerability and thrust his sword through the man's abdomen, then, leaving the sword embedded there, wrestled the other sword from the suffering man's hand and threw it into the corner. The man fell to his knees, one hand pawing uselessly at his eyes and the other flailing in front of him. Walker, despite feeling the brunt of the illness himself, summoned enough strength to pull out the sword and take a swing at the soldier's head, burying itself halfway through the neck. The man fell onto his side, gurgling and twitching for a moment before becoming still.

Walker looked at the man on the bed, and satisfied that he too was surely dead, sunk down into the closet, sitting down where he had left Emmeryn before. "People have so much blood," he mused as pools formed around the soldier on the ground and the bedsheets were slowly dyed red.

He then vomited again. After that he felt much better, at least in his stomach. He stood and closed the window, latching it. As he left through the front door, he did his best not to look at the old house that had just become a murder scene. He locked the door behind him, and crossed around to the back and found Emmeryn exactly where he had left her.

"Gods," he muttered with a sigh. "I guess we should head to Fallon's, huh?" he asked the comatose woman. He tried picking her up but found he was a lot weaker than he thought. "That meat really did a number on me…" For the time being, he pulled her behind the overgrown shrubs outside the house and sat beside her, breathing deeply and trying not to think.

* * *

Some time later, Walker woke with a start. It was still dark out, and the streets were mostly empty. He slowly stood up, and ventured as far as the street. Looking around, he saw most of the lamps had been extinguished, leaving the town shrouded in darkness save for the light of the moon and stars. Perfect for moving unseen, by Walker's estimation.

With a great deal of difficulty, he hefted the Exalt over his shoulders and started the trek to Fallon's home near the cemetery. "I need a better way to move her," he noted somberly. A few times during the walk he had to duck behind corners or into alleys to avoid guard patrols seeing him, but the mental map of the town he had spent most of his childhood forming gave him enough of an advantage that he had no real problem navigating the dark side streets.

Finally, he found himself on the front step of the old man's house. He looked around nervously, and, seeing no one around, chanced a knock on the door. Almost instantly the door flew open, and suddenly Walker was being pulled inside with such force that he almost dropped the Exalt on the way in.

"Get in the damn house! What have you been doing for the past few hours?" Fallon demanded, gesturing to the couch in his living room for Walker to set Emmeryn on. "And who in Naga's name is that?" Naga? Walker wondered absently for a moment, then snapped back to the situation at hand.

"Fallon, I'm in a lot of trouble," he said.

"What, you think I don't know that?" Fallon asked, eyebrows raised. "As of today, this town is entirely unsafe for you. You're wanted here, and your face is known here. That's a dangerous combination."

"Well, I wasn't planning on sticking around," Walker replied, sitting down on a nearby chair. "I'm trying to make my way into Ferox."

"Ferox? I suppose that," he gestured to the woman on his couch, "would be your reason?" He took a breath. "Who is she?" Fallon asked, more calmly this time.

"Fallon, I'm sure you heard that the Ylissean Exalt was executed today. Thrown from a spire near the capital?"

"Yes, I heard th- Oh." The old man pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're telling me-"

"This is Exalt Emmeryn. Alive," Walker finished, nodding his head.

"Don't suppose many people know she lives, eh?" Fallon mused. "Otherwise the manhunt would be much more fervent, I imagine."

"Far as I am aware, you and I are the only people that know. I'd like to keep it that way until I can get her out of the country," Walker said. "But after tonight, I'm going to need to accelerate that plan, I suspect."

"Would that have anything to do with you running off in a panic earlier?" Fallon asked.

"Yeah. I managed to hide the Exalt before guards showed up, but I couldn't avoid a confrontation. I had to kill them," Walker said quietly. He pictured again the pools of blood on the floor of his childhood bedroom. His already queasy stomach began to turn.

"I see. It's no easy thing, killing a man. And it never should be," Fallon replied, giving the ex-soldier's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "I was hoping you'd be able to avoid the path of blood. It changes a man."

Walker gruffly shrugged off the hand on his shoulder. "I'm not that fragile. It's fine. I signed up for that kind of thing when I joined up with the army."

"For all the good that did you, eh? I was opposed to that idea from the start, just like your mother was," Fallon said. Walker flinched at the mention of his mother.

"Look, if I promise I won't kill anyone unless it's necessary, will that placate you?" Walker grumbled.

The elder shrugged. "It'll have to do, won't it? But you're right, you've heard enough of this old man's idealistic ramblings. What you need is some real assistance. There's no way you're getting out of this town alive without my help. And to that end, there's something I have to give you." He stood up and crossed into a back room, out of Walker's sight. He returned a few moments later. "Open this." He handed a long, thin wooden box to Walker.

Walker cautiously opened the box, and inside was a long, straight sword. The handle was wrapped in black leather, with a small pommel that came to a dull point. The hilt was modestly decorated, with thin black vines of metal that curved and wove across the half-inch-wide steel bar. It was the hilt that jogged Walker's memory: this was his mother's sword.

"Mom's Levin sword… You repaired it after all," Walker said quietly, not looking away from the gleaming blade. He slowly lifted it from the box, feeling the slight buzz he had only felt once before, five years earlier. The energy in the sword coursed up his arm gently, and he felt the quiet hum of the blade's magic.

"I had no choice. She did pay me for the job, after all," Fallon said with a small smile. "And of course, it is your birthright. She left everything to you, as if that's surprising. Which makes the house yours as well." My house, huh, Walker thought. Not that I can exactly settle in at home now. "That reminds me, I've been holding onto the old pauldron, as well. Let me get it," he left the room again.

Walker studied the blade. "I've seen other Levin swords since joining the army, but they all have a lightning-shaped blade. Is Mom's sword the only one that's straight-bladed?" he called to Fallon.

The old man came back into the room. "Stop your gods-damned yelling, boy. It's still the dead of night." Walker looked down sheepishly. "Anyway, it's not the only one. It's merely the older style of blade. Modern Levin swords are gaudy and showy, not meant to really cut and fence like a regular blade. Most Levin swords are used by mounted mages who don't want to bother with carrying a tome, but they never really use them as a melee tool. In the old days it was different. Your mother held to the old way. That sword is as strong and supple as any, unlike those brittle newer mass-produced models. It was her most prized possession."

"I can see why," Walker commended, nodding appreciatively.

The old man sat down with an exaggerated grunt, holding a much larger wooden box. "You never really knew your father, did you?" Fallon asked. Walker shook his head. "In the days before the last war between Plegia and Ylisse, I knew the pair of them, your mother and father. You know Monica did mercenary work during your life, but you never saw her working with Erich. The two of them fighting together was a sight to see, and a force to be reckoned with. And part of the reason for that was this." He handed the box to Walker.

Inside the box was a large, black shoulder pauldron, lined in silver steel and rivets. Emblazoned on the front of the shield was a very familiar symbol. "Fallon," Walker said. "Why is the symbol on this guard the same as the mark on the Exalt's head?"

Fallon raised his brows. "You didn't know? Your father was an Ylissean soldier, once upon a time. Long before he met your mother. Of course, once he married your mother and moved to Plegia, he renounced his Ylissean citizenship. Partly to be near his wife's family, partly in protest to the former Exalt. By all rights, you are born legally from two Plegian parents." He leaned forward slightly. "But by blood, you're born of two nations."

Walker was stunned for a few moments. "...Why didn't Mom tell me that?" he asked.

"I don't know that she ever thought it mattered so much," Fallon replied with a shrug. "Her pride for you was never based on whether you were Plegian, Ylissean, both, neither, whatever. But really, in the climate Gangrel has been stirring up these past years, being an Ylissean in any respect was dangerous. It's what got your father killed, you know."

Walker thought for a while, looking down at the floor. "This whole time, I thought I was betraying my country. But now I learn Ylisse is my country too?" Something shifted in his head. "Maybe I really am doing the right thing." He felt a hand clap on his shoulder. He looked up to see Fallon looking at him, eyes gleaming.

"Your mother would be proud to see her boy fighting for an innocent person. She wanted to use that shield herself, you know. Obviously, in Gangrel's Plegia it wouldn't have gone over well. But you have the chance now to become the man she hoped you'd be. To hoist your mother's sword and your father's shield. You're doing the right thing," he said.

"I'm doing the right thing," Walker repeated almost silently. "Even if I have to fight my countrymen to do it."

The old man chuckled. "It's a lot tougher without something easy like nationality to guide morality, eh? I remember feeling the same when I gave up the Grimleal faith, years ago. You're walking down a lonely path, my boy. I hope you've steeled your nerves. The road is long, literally and figuratively."

"Speaking of, I don't have many supplies left. Is there any way you can help me get stocked up to make the journey north to Ferox?" Walker asked.

Fallon sighed. "Making your way north isn't just a matter of having enough supplies. It's a matter of staying hidden. With a comatose fully grown Ylissean woman in tow, you're not exactly going to be able to sneak into and out of towns. With that in mind, we have to be a little bit smarter." He rubbed his temples with a thumb and forefinger. "Plus, once the army learns you've gutted two of their own, in your own house, we are gonna have some real problems. You have to leave town tonight."

"How am I going to transport Exalt Emmeryn, though?" Walker asked.

Fallon considered for a moment. "Alright, I suppose this old man can make a sacrifice or two for the young and the bold. Does she move much?" Walker shook his head no. "Make any noise? Snoring and the like?" Another head shake. "Alright. I will give you my wagon then. You're going to be posing as a traveling peddler. Crop salesmen. In reality, the food will be only for yourself, to stay fed during the journey."

"Are you sure? I can't ask this of you, Fallon," Walker began to protest.

"You don't have to ask. I'm offering. But we must move quickly," Fallon responded, pulling Walker up by the hand from his seat. Over the next few hours the two worked quickly and quietly, compiling as much supplies as would be needed for a trek across the northern desert to the Feroxi border. Food, water, and spare clothes were piled up inside the covered wagon, with some miscellaneous supplies as well. Soon, the sun was threatening to break the horizon.

"Now, as for the Exalt herself, there's going to be some acting required on your part. As far as I have heard, the guard is not yet aware they are looking for a woman, so as long as you keep your act up, she's not the one that will draw undue attention. Well, as long as you keep folks from seeing that Brand. She's overheated, she's sick, whatever. If anything, it'll be you that blows your cover," Fallon said, looking intently at Walker as the latter stepped up into the driver's seat. "If you keep her under those blankets, they'll insulate her from the heat and keep her from getting hurt. She needs water, of course, but we can't risk trying to force food down. You'd just better hope you get her to a healer that can help with that. Though she looks fine so far," he said, looking through the back canvas cover at the pile of blankets out of which her head protruded.

"Fallon, I can't thank you enough for all this. You've saved me twice over tonight," Walker said with a slight bow of his head. "I will repay you someday, I swear it."

Fallon waved a hand nonchalantly. "Psh, this is nothing. I'm an old man, I'm sitting on enough gold to keep me fed until Naga takes me. I'm just glad I could finally take real action against that coot on the throne."

Walker cocked his head. "I've been meaning to ask. Who's Naga?"

The elder considered for a moment. "Well, there's a lot to that. I suppose it would have to start with-" He was interrupted by a series of sharp knocks on his front door, audible even in back of the house. Fallon whipped around. "Soldiers. They may have found your handiwork. No surprise they'd suspect me. You'd better go, now."

"But Fallon, what ab-"

"Now!" Fallon interrupted, slapping the horse on its haunch, prompting it to get moving and carry Walker away. Walker took one last look at the old man, who gave him a small smile with mischief in his eyes, then watched as he entered the house again.

* * *

The old man took his time shuffling to the door, despite that the pounding on the door getting louder and louder. Finally, after the knocking had escalated to a continuous pummeling on the poor door, Fallon turned the latch on the door. Before he had time to open the door himself, it swung open furiously, clashing against the wall with a sharp bang.

"Well, good morning to you," Fallon said, making a show of rubbing his eyes. "What good wind blows you my way today?"

One soldier, clad in the gold and red of a paladin, stepped in slowly, allowing each bootfall to sound out an echoing thud as he strolled into the room. He held his helmet at his side, freeing his head to look around with sharp, icy eyes. Though his brown hair was beginning to heavily grey, he stood tall and straight, shoulders cocked back. One hand rested on his sword's hilt leisurely, but Fallon was wary nonetheless. Two more soldiers strode in behind him.

"I don't believe we've been acquainted, but your reputation precedes you, Colonel," Fallon said slowly, thinking faintly about the Elthunder tome he kept on his bedside table. "Welcome to my home. Can I get you something to drink?"

The paladin's voice matched his eyes: sharp and intense. "Some water would be nice, Mister Fallon." Fallon shuffled off into the back room, drawing some water from his basin and shortly returning. The paladin slowly sipped the water, still looking around the room with careful eyes. After a few moments, seemingly satisfied, he set down the water on a nearby table and for the first time looked at Fallon. "You have heard of me, but allow me to introduce myself nonetheless. My name is Thanatos. I trust you also have heard why I am here?"

Fallon nodded. "You pursue any Ylisse sympathizers that may be harboring enemies of the state, I've heard."

"You heard correctly, sir. I trust, then, that it is no mystery why I am here?" Thanatos asked, gesturing to his men to begin searching the house. The men began upturning every chair, every table, anything that could hide anything.

"You must be aware that as soon as leaving the faith was decriminalized, I left the Grimleal faith for good," Fallon replied simply, as two of the men entered the back room and began scouring it for contraband.

"I am, sir, but I refer to your connection with the wanted fugitive known as Walker. Golonna received a report of his treason yesterday on my orders. I would like to know your thoughts on the subject. After all, you knew him well. Have you any idea where he may have gone?"

Fallon clenched his fists within his robe. "I assure you, I haven't the faintest. I'd imagine he'd be making his way to Ylisse, though, wouldn't you agree? No doubt heading east from the capital. The border is not terribly far from the capital, is it not?"

"A sensible answer, and ordinarily I would be inclined to agree. However, are you aware of the terrible crime that has taken place in your fair town this very night?" The colonel's eyes peered deeply into Fallon's, who didn't flinch or even blink at the knight staring down at him.

"A crime? What sort of crime?" Fallon asked concernedly.

"Both of the guards placed on watch at the Walker homestead were found brutally murdered earlier this evening," Thanatos replied levelly.

Fallon gasped, looking away and clutching his chest. After a moment, he met the paladin's eye again. "You're serious? That's terrible, truly. But if you're here telling me this, then…"

The paladin nodded. "Yes, we believe if it was not you, then you at least harbor the culprit. Please, do us the courtesy of telling us where he is."

"'He'? Are you suggesting-"

"Mister Fallon, let us not play games here. Yes, I fully believe you have knowledge of where Walker is at this moment. If you tell me, right now, where he is, we will leave this place forever, and never bother you again," Thanatos said sharply.

"I don't know where he is, you fool!" Fallon protested. "He hasn't made contact with me! Please leave an old man in peace!"

The paladin sighed. "Once we have finished our investigation, we will leave. Not one minute prior." He called out to his men, "Anything?"

A simultaneous "No, sir!" from the pair of them narrowed Thanatos' eyes. "No weapons, no evidence of a second person staying here?" he called again. Another "No, sir!" The first signs of frustration appeared on the paladin's face. A moment later, he joined in the search himself, throwing aside cloaks and blankets and lifting up furniture, finding nothing.

A few minutes passed. Fallon had refilled the water cup, which sat undrank on the only unturned table in the house. The old man tapped his fingers lightly on the tabletop. Finally, he said, "Are you men satisfied? This old man has nothing to hide."

Thanatos looked around the back room with renewed fervor, searching for something, anything to implicate the smug elder. Empty drawers, empty cabinets, all the clothes and items pulled out and inspected. There was nothing. Nothing to use. Except…

"Why is this door ajar?" Thanatos asked himself quietly, opening the door into the back paddock and stepping outside. He looked around for a moment, then grinned, eyes widening slightly for a moment. He straightened up his face, resuming his cold countenance, and called out, "Mister Fallon? Could you join my men and me out back?"

The three men left the house, Fallon holding out the cup of water. "Need a refresher after such a lengthy search?"

The paladin shook his head. "No need. I believe we are nearly done here. Mister Fallon, where is your horse?"

The old man's eyes widened for a moment. "My horse? Well, she's sick, you see, and-"

"And I suppose you had her haul your wagon to the doctor, then?" Thanatos replied derisively. "Look, you did your best, but I have you now. If you do not answer my questions willingly, we will have no choice but to extract those answers from you." He frowned at Fallon. "Last chance, Mister Fallon."

Fallon looked down at the ground. The Elthunder tome sat just inside his cloak. He only needed a second. He thought about the water in his hand. Moving as little as possible, he quietly channeled the white-hot energy of an Elthunder blast into the cup of water, superheating it in seconds. The colonel narrowed his eyes, searching for the source of the hissing sound the water made.

"Monica… Did I do enough for the boy?" Fallon asked the ground. Realization dawned on Thanatos' face and he moved toward Fallon, hand outstretched. As the two soldiers behind him stepped forward to seize him, he sprang into action, flinging the cup's contents into the colonel's face. The boiling liquid splashed against his face, earning a panicked scream from the suffering man as he clutched his face helplessly. Not wasting any time, Fallon drew his tome, and leveled a blast at the incapacitated paladin, striking him all the harder for the water conducting the blast across his face. Thanatos hit the ground, hard, and lay there prone.

Fallon whirled around, readying another blast, but by the time he had set his sights on his next target, two lances entered his chest simultaneously from the colonel's bodyguards. He had never known a pain like this before, and in an instant he knew it would claim his life. The soldiers withdrew their lances, and the blood flowed freely from the two massive wounds.

The old man fell backwards, right next to the prone colonel. The early morning sun had just cleared the buildings on the east side of town and shone brightly on his face. However, after a few seconds the light began to fade. He closed his eyes.

He smiled a small smile. "Agatha… I'm coming."

* * *

Walker took a deep breath as the wagon approached the north gate. There were two soldiers standing guard on either side of the gate, and as he drew up to them one held up a hand.

"Hold there. The town is on high alert. Where are you going?" the soldier demanded.

Walker swallowed. "My fiancée is terribly ill. I am taking her north to seek help and to get her out of the desert heat."

"Fiancée? She's in the wagon, then?" the soldier replied.

"That's right. I'm worried her fever will only worsen if I don't get her out of town," Walker said.

"Be that as it may, we are obliged to inspect the wagon before you can pass. I'm sure you understand," the soldier replied, not waiting for an answer before signaling his companion to board the wagon, then coming around to board himself. Walker set down the reins, then as silently as possible stepped off the wagon and crept around towards the back.

"Hey," the other soldier said. "Here's the fiancée he mentioned." There was a pause. "Wait a minute, what's that mark on her forehead?" Shit. "Isn't that..?"

"Yeah, I think it is," the first soldier replied. The pair began to draw their swords, but before they were halfway out of their sheaths they were interrupted by a loud electrical crackle behind them. One of the soldiers found the blade of a sword pressed against his throat.

"I was hoping it wouldn't come to this," Walker said, "but I need you to get out of my wagon. Now."

Without turning around, the soldier said, "You… You're Walker, the fugitive, aren't you?"

"Shut up," Walker barked. "Now both of you, take very slow steps, walking backwards out of the wagon." They followed orders, keeping their hands raised. "Before you get out, remove your swords one at a time, and hand them to me." They did so, and Walker noticed their hands shaking as they did so.

"N-now look, Walker. We're not looking to stop you, alright?" the second soldier said as he handed over his sword.

Walker faltered a moment. "Wait, what?"

The soldier spoke quickly and quietly. "You may not know this, but rumors about the battle have been running rampant in the past day or so. The things the Ylissean Exalt said, about peace and working together to create it? It's the same sort of thing we've been thinking for a while now, ever since tensions started rising again with Ylisse.

"The younger soldiers are too young to remember it, but the last war with Ylisse was awful, for our country and for theirs. When we found out war was coming again, we knew it was only a matter of time before friends and family started dying all over again. But she offered a way out, the Exalt did. We don't wanna fight anymore. If you let us live, we will never tell a soul you passed through. Alright?"

Walker considered for a moment. The man seemed sincere, but there was no way of knowing that. If they were lying, he'd have pursuers in no time. But if Fallon told those soldiers where he was heading, that would be a problem either way. He thought of Fallon. The old man who never wanted to kill a soul, yet kept a mage's tome at his bedside. That was the sort of man he wanted Walker to be. Suddenly, the answer was clear as day.

"Alright," he said. "I'm going to trust you. When I'm gone, act as if you've seen nothing, yes?" The soldiers nodded fervently. Walker boarded the driver's seat, spurring the horse into action. Once he was about fifty feet outside the gate, he dropped the guards' swords off the side of the wagon, figuring he should leave them armed to avoid suspicion.

After a few minutes, Walker began to feel the weight of exhaustion press down on him. His eyelids felt as if they were lead, and he recalled that he hadn't really had a night's rest since before he came to Golonna. As the sun slowly began to rise over the desert sands, Walker muttered to himself, "It's been a long night."

* * *

 **A/N: And there you have it, the establishment of a bonafide villain. The wait on this chapter was a little longer than I had planned, but ideally I will be doing more writing than usual in the coming months. As always, comments and critiques are welcome. See you next time!**


	4. Chapter 4: Life on the Run

**The Hardest to Kill**

 **Chapter 4: Life on the Run**

"Son of a- _whoa_!"

Walker swerved the wagon hard left to avoid the charging cavalier that was blocking the only path free from military roadblocks. The cavalier was unable to change direction quickly enough to pursue closely, but Walker could see two archers and two lancers standing at the ready behind the roadblock. Pressing farther north at this location would be impossible. He pulled the wagon around, and prepared for another charge from the cavalier as he doubled back the way he came. He was pretty sure he remembered a left turn about a mile back. The horse protested loudly as he guided it through a 180 degree rotation, then barely had time to raise his pauldron to block the strike from the cavalier's lance.

"Grr, can't you asses just _leave me alone?_ " Walker demanded through gritted teeth as he egged the horse on to go as fast as possible. It wouldn't be long before the group pursuing him from behind caught up. After a few seconds, Walker figured the cavalier would be catching up soon. He veered off to the right side of the road to force the approach from the left side, and sure enough, not long after that the horseman's lance stabbed in from his back-left side. Having slid over to the right side of the bench to stay clear of the lance, Walker then grabbed the shaft just above the blade and jerked it toward him as hard as he could. A second later, he heard a satisfying "Waaah!" and a subsequent _thump_ as the unfortunate rider was pulled off his horse and sent rolling to the ground.

A few moments later, Walker could see the west fork approaching. However, at the same time a trio of cavaliers, two with swords and one brandishing a bow, were bearing down on him from the south road. Walker could tell they were going to catch him before the turn, as they weren't burdened by a wagon. The Levin Sword was still in the sheath at his hip, but the steel lance from the fallen cavalier was now at his disposal. He held the lance in his lap, trying to keep it hidden from the oncoming soldiers. The archer cavalier let one arrow fly from afar, and it hit the ground concerningly close to the wagon. The sword cavaliers spread out, attempting to flank the wagon on either side.

Walker could see the turn approaching, so to make the turn easier, he began to bank left to make a wide turn. At the same time, he forced the left cavalier off the road and into the sand. The horse's front hooves hit the sand hard and sank in quickly, causing the horse to tumble forward and throw the rider off. There was a loud _crack_ as the horse's leg broke from the impact. Meanwhile, Walker readied the steel lance, keeping his eye on the sword point of the opposing rider. _I've got the advantage._ Meanwhile, an arrow shot past Walker's head and embedded itself in the wood behind him. _Aaaaand I may have just shit myself._

The right cavalier charged, ready to swipe, but suddenly Walker raised the lance and pointed it at his opponent's chest. It was too late for the cavalier to change direction; he rode full-speed into the lance, earning a massive chest wound. However, in the process Walker lost his grip on the weapon, dropping it to the ground. It was now time to pull the horse into the turn, but in the process he exposed his flank to the archer. With the precious seconds of lead he had, he drew his Levin Sword and readied it in his left hand, preparing for the archer to come up beside him.

Sure enough, the archer rode up on his left, arrow nocked and ready. However, she found that where she expected a head to be there was nothing. A split second too late, she realized he had ducked down onto the floor to avoid her shot, and was pointing his sword at her. Walker let loose a blast from the blade, not strong enough to kill her, but enough to cause her muscles to seize up, knocking off her balance and causing her to fall over, shooting the arrow harmlessly into the air just before hitting the ground. Satisfied that his enemies were sufficiently incapacitated, Walker rode onward to the west, dreading the next military checkpoint he would come across.

* * *

That night, Walker arrived at the outskirts of a small oasis town called Calina. He had pulled out the arrow from the wagon wall and had done his best to remove all signs of a fight, as well as removing his father's pauldron and storing it beneath the seat, but it proved mostly unnecessary. At the entrance to town, a lone soldier stood drowsily. He put up a nonchalant hand to stop Walker.

"Alright, I gotta check the wagon. State of emergency on account of the war and all, you understand," the soldier said, circling around to the back of the wagon. Walker waited anxiously, hand clenched around the handle of the Levin Sword. "Whozzat in the back?" the soldier asked.

"That's my fiancée, sir," Walker replied. "She's ill, so I'm taking her to the spring in town to seek remedy."

"Ah, good idea, that is," the soldier said. Walker could hear him rifling around a few boxes in the wagon. "The spring always does wonders for me and mine. Well, if that's all you're here for, I've no reason to keep ya. Go on then." He hopped out of the wagon and resumed his post.

"Thank you sir," Walker said, finally removing his hand from the sword. He rode into town quietly. Once inside, he pulled his wagon up alongside some others in the center of town and unhitched the horse. He led the horse to a trough of water, where it gratefully ducked its head in and drank deeply.

Leaving the horse for now, he returned to the wagon and climbed inside. The Exalt looked a little worse for wear, but overall she didn't seem to be in serious danger. He had gotten skilled over the past few stops at tipping water down her throat, and once that was done she looked a bit better. "How many days has she gone without food?" Walker wondered aloud. This town was too small to have a full-time healer, and he couldn't risk all the attention that going door-to-door asking around would draw.

Walker sighed. He was going to need to find a solution soon. She may not last the whole trip into Ferox without some food, especially if he kept being diverted westward like this. He pulled out a small loaf of bread from one of the canvas bags in the wagon and bit down on it grumpily.

Suddenly, a large black shape filled most of his field of vision, and something started pulling at his bread. Walker yelped, pulling the bread away and swatting frantically with his free hand. A second later, he realized it was a large crow that was attempting to relieve him of his meal. It cawed aggressively as it pecked at the loaf.

"Go away! Go on! Hya! Shoo!" Walker declared, punctuating each sentence with another swat against the persistent bird. "It's my gods damned bread!" However, soon another crow joined in, and then another. Within a few seconds it seemed an entire squawking flock had come to steal his bread. "I just want dinner!" Walker pleaded helplessly, clenching his eyes shut.

"There's no CAWs for alarm! Nya ha ha!" a voice called out from behind the sheet of black feathers. "I'll CAWll them off!" Then the distant voice let out several "CAW" sounds, and immediately the crows disbanded and flew over onto several nearby benches and rooftops. Walker cautiously opened his eyes to take a look at his savior.

" _Henry?_ " Walker asked incredulously. "Gods, Henry, I can't believe it's you!"

The squinty-eyed white-haired mage cackled some more. "Well who else would I be? Never been anyone else. Or have I? Nya ha ha!"

"I just- They let you out of- Why are you here?" Walker asked, trying to remember how to talk to the lighthearted dark mage.

"Well, I was stationed here," Henry replied simply. "When I graduated from mage camp, they told me to come here to join the guard regiment. They told me it was an important post, but I'm starting to think that was a lie. There are only two guards posted here, and I'm one of them." Walker grimaced; he knew full well it was no "mage camp." Henry had been sent to a rehabilitation camp years earlier following an unfortunate incident involving the deaths of several recruits. Normally he would have been killed, but the higher-ups had deemed his talent too strong to miss out on. Walker did not get the impression that the camp had changed Henry much. Perhaps they had deemed him a failed project and sent him to this remote village where he couldn't do much damage?

"I think I understand," Walker said. "So… how goes the dark mage business?"

"Well, you tell me," Henry said with a grin. "Could you tell the guard at the gate was hexed?"

Walker's eyes widened. "He was? What did you do to him?" he asked incredulously.

Henry waved a hand nonchalantly. "All I did was change his demeanor. He's normally a real uptight guy, so I made him cool as a summer breeze. Now he wouldn't pick a fight with you if you killed his own mom right in front of him! Nya ha ha!" That explained a lot, Walker realized. "Say, speaking of, haven't I heard something about you lately, Walker?" Henry asked, head slightly cocked. Walker blanched. "There was a report or something… that's right! Didn't you kill somebody?"

Walker's hand, which had been resting nervously on the hilt of his sword, dropped to his side. "What, that doesn't bother you?" he asked.

"Not a chance! The rumor is you bludgeoned a healer's head in with a club! I'm jealous!" Henry replied. "I haven't gotten to kill anyone without getting in trouble for _years_!"

Walker shifted uncomfortably. "But I mean, if you know about that, then won't you get in trouble if you don't turn me in?" he asked cautiously.

"Oh, for sure! I don't doubt they'd execute me. But I guess I assumed you'd prefer I not turn you in," Henry responded cheerfully.

"Uh… yeah, that's a fair assessment," Walker replied, getting exhausted from the rapid waxing and waning of his stress levels. "So you and I are good, then?"

Henry gave a thumbs-up and a grin. "No prob, Bob!"

"That's not… yeah," Walker said.

"So what brings you this far west anyway?" Henry asked. "The word was that you'd probably be fleeing north, far as I had heard."

Walker rubbed the back of his head. "Well, that was the idea, but…" Suddenly, several weeks of being chased by the Plegian military came back to him. "It didn't exactly go as planned..."

* * *

Walker wiped the sweat from his brow, seemingly for the fiftieth time in the past few minutes. "Gods… take me," he muttered, quickly closing his mouth so as not to let the heat inside.

Some indeterminate amount of time later, Walker stopped the wagon. He hopped off the seat and entered the back of the wagon. He pried open of the barrels of water and snatched up a ladle from a rack. He forced himself to slowly drink deeply of the water, feeling a slight chill up his spine as it cooled him off from the inside. In that moment, he could see why former societies had worshipped gods of water. It truly was divine.

Now came the hard part. He stared at the Exalt, not sure how to go about getting water into her system. "Cripes…" he muttered, and pulled most of the blankets that covered her off and set them to the side. With a ladle of water in one hand, he held her mouth open and gently poured a trickle into her mouth. The water sat in the back of her mouth, unmoving. After a few seconds, he noticed she wasn't breathing anymore. "Shit. Shit!" he cried, turning her over and dumping the water out of her mouth. Thankfully, she began breathing again.

Walker slumped against the water barrel. How on earth was he going to do this? He wasn't cut out for this. If he couldn't even get water in her system, then what was the point of it all? He clenched his fists. Was it all for nothing?

"No," he said out loud. There was a solution. He just had to think. Fallon wouldn't leave him with nothing. He thought back to everything Fallon had told him. Fallon was a weird old man; he had a strong affinity for the cultures of long-dead societies. When he said he was old-fashioned, he had meant it. Walker scrunched his eyes shut, trying to remember all of what Fallon had talked about many times in Walker's youth.

He used to talk about how pre-medical staff societies would take care of their sick and wounded. Before a staff could instantly cure most maladies and injuries, medics had to care for their patients for weeks or months at a time. In particular, unconscious patients were particularly difficult. Caring for them was impossible for a long time, because giving them water would result in them choking and dying, but not giving it to them killed them too. It wasn't until there was a new innovation in medical care that comatose patients could be saved. But what had it been?

Walker rubbed at his temples. The heat permeated his headspace, making everything seem foggy and blurry. He wished more than anything for enough spare water to hose himself off.

"Wait! A hose!" Walker exclaimed suddenly, leaping to his feet. He dug through a few bags, until eventually he found a few feet's length of narrow hose. Then, he looked back at Emmeryn and blanched slightly. "Um…" He had no idea how to proceed. He made a few estimations, measuring about how far down he figured the hose would have to go. He cut the hose at that length, with a few inches to spare. Then came the gross part.

"Eww," he groaned as the hose slowly slinked down her throat. He felt a little bit sick to his stomach as the hose continued to work its way down to approximately where her stomach began. Eventually, Walker was tentatively satisfied with the hose's position. Next, he found a small funnel and poked the end into the hose. Now, the moment of truth. He slowly poured some water down the funnel, keeping the Exalt's head slightly elevated to make sure the water moved the right way. After a few moments, Walker allowed himself to be satisfied that Emmeryn was still breathing.

He sighed, slumping against the water barrel again. That had been a struggle. After a few moments, and another drink for himself, he peered outside of the wagon. The sun was dipping low on the horizon, and ribbons of orange and red were cascading across the sky.

"Gods, that took way too long," he muttered, looking nervously back the way he had come. He had not yet put a lot of distance between himself and Golonna, and if those soldiers had gotten anything out of Fallon, they would be in pursuit for sure. He hopped back into the driver's seat and rode off.

* * *

"Wait wait wait," Henry interrupted. "You have to feed the Exalt through a tube?"

"Uh, yeah," Walker replied, raising a brow.

" _Hose_ idea was that? Nya ha ha!" Henry chortled. Walker pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. "Anyway, I wanna hear more! It's so boring here sometimes, with only Allan to hex. Your story gets violent eventually, right?"

Walker nodded grimly. The pair resumed walking Henry's patrol route as Walker resumed the story.

* * *

"You know, I'm getting pretty good at this," Walker said to himself as he put the funnel away. As was his custom, as soon as Emmeryn was squared away, he peered out the back of the wagon for a minute to make sure there were no pursuers in sight. Seeing nothing of note, he clambered back into the front and rode off for what felt like the hundredth time. In fact, it may have been the hundredth time, now that he considered it. It was fortunate he had been able to restock on water in the last town, as keeping both Emmeryn and the horse watered was more taxing than he and Fallon had accounted for.

"Alright, we're coming up on the end of the day here, and then we can finally get some sleep. Sleep is good, even if it's with one eye open. Just keep it going," Walker reassured himself as he rode. He was talking to himself a lot more lately. That had started somewhere around the two-week mark, and concerningly had not abated days later.

"How are you holding up back there, Exalt?" he asked the unconscious body in the back. She didn't reply. Walker allowed himself to feel just slightly stung by her indifference. He chuckled. Maintaining a positive spirit was the only way to last out here, he had decided.

While the hours passed, he thought of his mother. He wondered what she would say if she were here now.

That night, he came to a stop between two massive dunes, setting up camp in a shallow valley not far from the road. Normally, he had a tough time falling asleep once the cold night air had set in, but tonight he was so beat he dropped like a rock and was asleep almost instantly. However, that didn't stop him from waking instantly when he heard a voice.

He sat bolt upright, hand already gripping the Levin sword he kept beside him as he slept. He rose, cautiously, as the voices approached on the other side of the south dune. Grabbing the black pauldron and strapping it on as he moved, he snuck to the front of the wagon and crouched in the driver's seat. Eventually, the voices cleared the dune and became clearer.

"Hey, I've got something," said a man's voice. "Small camp, covered wagon. Looks like it might be our guy." Walker listened intently as the sound of hooves approached on the road. When they had gotten close enough, they dismounted and approached on foot. Walker heard three swords draw from their sheaths.

 _Three on one_ , Walker thought. _I don't like those odds._ He looked intently at the Levin sword in his hand. He had taken a few practice shots the past few weeks, and he thought he knew the way the sword actually worked. However, he had no idea how powerful the bolts would be, coming from him. When he had watched the practice shots leave the sword before, they certainly hadn't _looked_ lethal.

He heard one set of steps approach the front of the wagon, while the others split off to check the back and the small tent he had pitched. Walker positioned the sword point at approximately where he thought neck-height would be and tensed his muscles, ready to stab the moment he saw someone. Instead, a quiet whistle sounded out from the back of the wagon that Walker recognized as the signal calling for assistance. No doubt he had spotted Emmeryn. The footsteps approaching the front stopped, then turned and began walking back.

If Walker let them regroup he would stand no chance. He leapt down behind the soldier, and before the man could turn Walker planted his blade in the soldier's throat, blocking his voice. However, it wasn't enough. He heard movement, followed quickly by shouting at the man at the tent exclaimed, "He's awake! Not in the tent!" At the same time, the stabbed man fell to the ground, his equipment clattering loudly. "Linus!" the man cried as he ran toward the scene.

"Hold!" the other soldier shouted, but the warning didn't come in time: the moment the man was in sight, Walker let loose a blast from his sword. It hit the soldier squarely in the chest, leaving him convulsing and seizing on the ground seconds later. The remaining soldier shouted in anger and panic on hearing his comrade hit the ground. Wasting no time, Walker stabbed between two of the felled man's armor plates, sealing his fate.

The last man's voice shook as he spoke. "Stop, Walker. Approach the back of the wagon slowly." Realizing what the soldier must be doing, he slowly rounded the corner and looked in at the man standing in the wagon, with the Exalt's body leaned against him, his blade to her throat. "There we go. Now stand down, or else she dies."

A million thoughts shot through Walker's head at once. Was he trapped? A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. Options, options... One more thought crossed his mind.

Returning the Exalt to the Plegians was as good as killing her anyway.

He laughed a low, insincere laugh. "Oh, please. You think you've got leverage now? Here's the real situation you're in. The moment you kill that woman, I'm going to kill you." He wondered if he could try something. He let a tiny bolt of lightning travel down the blade, crackling and flashing. The soldier flinched in fear. "Your comrades are proof that I'm no trifle. If you want to survive, I suggest you get that blade away from the only thing keeping you alive right now."

The soldier stuttered as he spoke. "W-we are prepared to d-die for our colonel! We don't make deals with traitors! Now put down that sword!" He pressed the blade closer to her throat, stretching the skin.

Walker's grip tightened on his sword. "Even if you kill her, you won't capture me. The traitor will walk free, and you'll have died for nothing. And what's your plan from here? To somehow ride all the way back to your colonel, holding her hostage the entire time? You're in an impossible situation, surely you see that. The only choice you have to make is how much you lose." He raised the sword and pointed it at the man. "You don't want to know what this feels like, trust me."

The soldier gulped, and very slowly lowered his blade. "There we go," said Walker soothingly. "Now put her down, and get out of my wagon." The man obeyed, and knelt on the ground in front of Walker.

"Th-there. I surrender. Please, let me go," he said. Walker considered for a moment. If he let the man go back, information about the supplies and weapons he had would go back with him, not to mention the direction he was headed. The moment he let the soldier go, there was no way to mitigate what he might reveal to his commandant. But to just kill him…

A thought occurred to him. He groaned inwardly in advance for all the trouble this was going to cause him. "Alright. Here are your orders. You will ride, without weapons or armor, northbound. You will ride ahead of me, but no farther ahead than fifty feet. If you get farther, even once, I shoot you off your horse. If you change direction, I shoot you off your horse. If you say a word to anyone we pass by, I shoot you off your horse. Understood?" The man nodded vigorously and wordlessly dropped his sword. While he removed his armor, Walker gathered some rope to tie him up for the night.

* * *

"So you were gonna let him kill the Exalt?" Henry asked cheerfully. "That kinda seems like the one thing you wouldn't want to happen."

Walker replied, "No, I wasn't actually gonna let him. To be honest, it was all a bluff. I was shaking at the knees the whole time. But if you put up the right resolve, that's half the battle if you can get inside their heads."

Henry grinned and said, "Well yeah! That's what dark mage hexes are all about! Messing with people's heads! Nya ha ha!"

"Er, right. I imagine your cheery demeanor would knock most enemies down a peg too, now that I consider it," Walker said.

"Is that why no one in mage camp wanted to practice with me..? Oh yeah! So what happened to that guy? I mean, obviously he's not here, unless he's invisible," Henry inquired. "Is he invisible?"

Walker sighed. "The next day, he tried to make a break for it. I shot him off his horse, so he flipped forward off the horse, making it panic, and in that panic it ended up stomping his chest in on accident. I sorta left him there."

"So much for trying not to kill people! Nya ha ha!" Henry laughed, lightly slapping Walker on the shoulder.

"I was just trying, alright? For Emmeryn's sake. When she wakes up, if she finds out how many people have already died to get her to safety, I don't doubt she'll be upset," Walker shot back defensively. He thought of what Fallon told him. "I know that I'm going to have to kill people. I already have. I just don't want to if I can avoid it."

"You sure are a weird one, Walker," Henry replied with a chuckle. _Look who's talking._

"Anyway, I kept running into checkpoints and things like that the farther I rode northward, meaning I had to keep detouring west. That's why I ultimately ended up here…"

* * *

The colonel sat atop his horse, impatiently tapping his sword's sheath as the group trotted down the road. A gust of wind blew some sand across his face, slipping under the bandages and further aggravating the burned flesh, drawing a long, teeth-gritted groan from him. The first aid he had performed on himself might have staved off the worst of the damage, but his right eye was probably permanently damaged, and about two thirds of his face was plagued with burns and scars. "That damned old man," he muttered. He squinted with his remaining good eye up at the rising sun. One of the scouting squads had still not returned.

He called his troops to attention. "We are moving out, full speed. Squad B has been somehow waylaid, possibly by our mark. Considering it is the only route that isn't officially declared clean, we are following their path." The platoon rode off swiftly, closing the gap between the colonel and his target at breakneck speed. He clenched his fists tightly to distract himself from the pain in his facial wounds. "That traitorous slime will suffer for this," he said to himself as he rode. "There will not be enough left to bury."

* * *

"Of course, that wasn't the only time military scouts caught up to me. There were a few other times, and it was only with a lot of luck that I got even this far," Walker said. "It doesn't help that I could hardly stop anywhere without risking someone seeing Emmeryn."

"Well you gotta admit, it's a weird sight. Unconscious woman with a hose rammed down her throat and all," Henry commented.

Walker grunted in agreement. "And I'm going to need to find her some real help soon. As glad as I am that she's lasted this long, I can't risk putting food into her system. She's starving. She'll be in danger before long."

"There's not a healer in town, either. It's a small enough town that all we get is the odd shipment of vulnerary here and there," Henry replied.

"Vulneraries, huh?" Walker said a little absently as his focus returned to Emmeryn's predicament. "Vulneraries… Wait! That might work!" he cried.

"What might work?" Henry asked, equal parts confused and excited.

"I used a vulnerary to stave off dehydration by undoing the damage that dehydration was doing to my body. Maybe in a pinch, it can do the same for starvation!" Walker replied, already running for the center of town. "Where's the apothecary?" he called back at Henry.

"You're talking to him!" he called in response with a laugh. "Come on!" He led Walker to a short house near the town square. "I am equal parts patrolman and apothecary," he explained as he opened the door.

The inside of the house was surprisingly normal. Walker looked around a little warily as Henry led him to the back room. "What's up, Walker?" Henry asked.

"I dunno, I guess I just expected your house to be… more eccentric?" Walker half-questioned. "Like, a human skull, or black candles, or something. Isn't that what you dark mage types usually like?"

"Oh. Not really! Most of the time you just need some ingredients and a place to build a fire," Henry replied, gesturing to the small fireplace on the east wall. "Besides, where would I get a skull? I haven't been allowed to kill anyone in soooo long! Make no bones about it! Nya ha ha!" He ducked into a small space in the back of his room and returned with a crate with about a dozen vials of the healing liquid. "Think this'll be enough?"

Soon after that, a full vial had been fed through the hose and into Emmeryn's stomach. A few minutes passed, but soon a bit of color returned to her skin and her breathing evened out. Walker sighed with relief.

"You have no idea how thankful I am, Henry. This whole journey has felt like one massive demonstration of how ill-prepared I am to handle anything on my own," he said, clapping a hand on Henry's shoulder.

"You know, you may want to do something about that, too," Henry said, pointing to Emmeryn's face. After a moment, Walker realized he meant her Brand. "If anything is going to get you found out, it'll be that, don'cha think?"

Walker nodded. "You're right, but what can be done about it? It's not like you can just hex it off, is it?" A moment passed. "Is it?" He turned to see Henry grinning at him manically.

* * *

After about an hour of sorting through ingredients and preparing them, Henry called Walker back into the back room. "Ready to blast her face!" he declared with a cackle.

"W-well, don't actually blast off her face, please," Walker began, but Henry held up a hand.

"Kidding. This'll only be a recoloring of her face. When it's done, there shouldn't be any sign of the Brand. It'll be like she was never Exalt!" he explained.

Walker felt a sudden pang of guilt. He didn't doubt that her Brand and her family identity were an important part of who she was, and here he was getting ready to take that away forever. What would she say when she woke up? "Hey, can this ever be undone?" Walker asked.

"Welllll, probably not," Henry replied. "To be honest, it's a difficult enough hex to make all of her skin the same color. Trying to put a complicated shape like the Brand back on a person probably isn't going to be possible, at least not for someone at my level." He shrugged.

"There's no helping it, I guess," Walker mused. "Alright, if it's ready, then let's get it rolling."

The pair stood there for about a minute. "...What, did you already do it?" Walker asked.

"Oh! No, it's just that I don't like doing my hex work around others. Well, except maybe little animals, those are fine. But with people, I can't do it," Henry confessed.

Walker sighed, then nodded in understanding and stepped outside. He figured rather than waiting in the living room, he'd take a look outside and sort through some supplies. He stowed the remaining vulneraries in with the food, since they would have to serve as Emmeryn's meals for the time being.

After a few minutes, Henry's head poked out from his doorway. "Walker! It's done!" he shouted.

Walker, in a panic, shushed the dark mage. Rushing over to him, he hissed, "Don't say my name that loudly. I know you seem not to care, but the rest of the country is out for my blood, you know."

Henry giggled. "Right, oops. Anyway, come on!" He led Walker into the back room. Emmeryn's forehead looked a little bit empty without the Brand. He had gotten used to seeing it in the weeks he had spent taking care of her, but now she looked somewhat off to him.

"Thank you, Henry. For everything," Walker said quietly as he looked at Emmeryn's face. She did look healthier than before; the vulnerary was probably helping.

"No prob, buddy!" Henry said cheerily. "It was nice to get to practice hexing on someone else for a change."

Walker turned to Henry. "Hey, I'm going to be heading out as soon as I can. I can't stop here, even for a night. I'm sorry to bail so soon after getting all this help from you, but I don't have a choice as long as I'm being pursued. By now, hopefully the horse will have rested enough."

Henry waved a hand dismissively. "I getcha, no problem. It was good to see you again after all this time though!"

Walker smiled. "Yeah, it was. I can't thank you enough for the help." He turned to leave, but then stopped in the doorway. "Oh, and Henry? You can never tell anyone that Emmeryn and I were here. If word gets out that she's alive, all hell could break loose."

Henry saluted. "You got it, boss! Nya ha ha!"

Walker left the house and prepared to leave town, heading west and hopefully away from his pursuers. He let out a long sigh as he left town. Something about Henry just put him on edge, but he couldn't really explain it, even to himself.

* * *

" _So what you're telling me is...you've known all this time that Emmeryn was alive?" Robin asked incredulously._

" _Well, yeah, obviously. They came to my house, I took care of them, no big deal," Henry replied._

" _YES big deal! Are you serious? This information could have helped us so many times, Henry! Why on earth didn't you tell us that she was alive?" Robin fumed._

" _Well...he asked me not to tell anybody, ever. So I just did as I was asked. Don't you keep your promises, Robin?"_

 _Robin pinched the bridge of his nose._

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you've enjoyed our foray through the Plegian desert! Got some good stuff planned for the next one. As always, comments and critiques are welcome. See you next time!**


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